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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27521737">I'll Describe The Way I Feel, Weeping Wounds That Never Heal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velocity_Owl87/pseuds/Velocity_Owl87'>Velocity_Owl87</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Terror (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Career Ending Injuries, Caretaking, Declarations Of Love, First Kiss, Hopeful Ending, Idiots in Love, Introspection, Medical, Multi, Recovery, Requited Love, Retirement, Serious Injuries, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Victorian Attitudes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 05:28:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27521737</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velocity_Owl87/pseuds/Velocity_Owl87</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>By sheer blind luck Ross manages to find the remaining members of the Franklin Expedition, many of whom are at death's door. One of these being Commander Fitzjames and the main concern of Crozier, whom Ross judges far changed in ways he can't begin to understand. </p><p>He offers his friend and Fitzjames a place to recover while Francis faces both external conflicts and comes to realisations about his life, his ambitions...And the person he wants to have with him for the rest of his life. </p><p>All the while Fitzjames struggles with coming to terms with lingering injuries, the ordeal of being known, and the possibility of finally getting his heart's desire.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Captain Francis Crozier &amp; Commander James Fitzjames, Captain Francis Crozier &amp; Sir James Clark Ross, Captain Francis Crozier &amp; Thomas Jopson, Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, Commander James Fitzjames &amp; Harry D. S. Goodsir, Henry Collins/Harry D. S. Goodsir, Lady Ann Ross &amp; Sir James Clark Ross, Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>72</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Can the saviour be for real, or are you just my seventh seal?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I started this story in the summer, but put it aside when I got entangled in another story that spawned even more stories and just now got back to this one. James doesn't get off lightly here and part of it is due to reading the Terror entry in the TV Tropes website as to what his situation would have been had he survived. I have done my homework on his injuries and health, but if I don't make claim to be super accurate and will make mistakes, so my apologies in advance and I will try to do my best to fix them.<br/>Title is from Placebo's "Special K."</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was Francis’ old friend, Sir James Clarke Ross, who found him pacing up and down outside the berth converted into a sick room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis hadn’t gone far. Not to the deck or to the dining hall. Even if James hadn’t caught sight of the fair hair, he would have been able to know it was Francis by the heavy coat he wore as he walked. He was always cold like the others and James didn’t begrudge them the need to stay warm. After all, he hadn’t been the one stuck in the Arctic for years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other thing that struck Ross was that Francis was deathly quiet like he always was if he wasn’t directly spoken to by either himself or McClintock or any of the Enterprise crew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unless he was in the company of his men that was. Then he talked to them. And they to him. They just didn’t waste words with anyone else, leaving James with the uncomfortably vague impression that these men had crossed into another plane that he couldn’t follow. And no one else could either. They kept apart and silent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Blanky, their most garrugulous member was subdued and preferred to sit with his pipe, contemplating something that no one else could see. Same with the second Ice Master, Collins, who only seemed to come alive when Goodsir was about. Otherwise, they were silent and still and always watching. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They had all changed and Ross wondered exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> they had experienced out there that had unnerved them so badly and changed them so much as to be almost unrecognizable. Especially Francis, who had turned distant and remote to Ross. Enough so that he wondered if Francis would ever return to his old self.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever since Ross and McClintock had found them, it wasn’t often that he did see flashes of the old Francis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James was musing on this when he saw Francis pacing up and down, his expression forbidding and inwardly focused. Nothing else existed to him outside of the problem he was pondering and James felt uneasy, as if he was intruding on a private moment. The feeling was so strong that he nearly turned around to leave, then stopped himself. No. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to stay. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ross needed to talk to Francis and keep him up to date with the itinerary. The supply lists and what they could expect to find in England. Lady Jane and her crusades. News of Miss Cracroft. He had put it off too long at Francis’ request. It had to be done now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he pressed on, surprised to hear a low muttering as he got closer. He couldn't make out what it was that Francis was saying. He only caught a name -</span>
  <em>
    <span>James-</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the words ran into each other once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ross’ breath caught in his throat, since he was all too aware it wasn’t him that Francis was worried sick about. No. James Fitzjames had occupied all of Francis’ thoughts ever since they had, by sheer luck and happenstance, been found. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And not a moment too soon, since James Fitzjames was closer to death than to life. One day, one week later and he would have been yet another one of the dead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As it was, Ross privately wondered if that wasn’t a possibility even now that they were out at sea and due to pull in to Halifax to resupply and send word out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as he wanted to be optimistic and whole heartedly agree with Francis, and a few others that were holding out hope their dashing Commander would be back to normal soon enough. That rest and hot food and lime juice would work their wonders and Fitzjames would be up and about again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet the grim looks of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> doctor were telling Ross that this was starting to look more like a longshot than an actuality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ross had caught a glimpse of Fitzjames as they had hauled him straight to the ship per Goodsir and his own doctor’s orders. What had lain in that sled was nothing like the vibrant and brash Commander in the daguerreotype he carried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God help him for thinking that. He still regretted it when he thought of it. But it was all he could do to keep a neutral expression on his face as he took in all of the sores, blood, and wounds on what wasn’t covered up by bloodied slops. And what wasn’t blocked by Francis and the doctors hovering over what remained of Fitzjames. And the stench…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t said anything as Francis had fallen in step with him. Nor had he said anything when Francis would come to him and give some update on Fitzjames’ condition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he was cruel for not saying anything. For letting Francis have this false hope, but he couldn’t bring himself to destroy Francis’ hope. Not when he had hoped for his friend to have someone to connect to. Even if it was a half-dead man that may not live out the passage to England. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ross was all too aware how painful it had been for Francis when Miss Cracroft had turned him down twice. How she had toyed with her affections and how she made it painfully clear that unless Francis managed to get a knighthood and money, nothing would happen between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“That certainly won’t be an obstacle once we get back to England. Too bad there is another one to surmount.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ross thought, then quickly pushing it away when Francis turned and saw him standing there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“James! Is something the matter? Or did I miss a bell?” Francis asked, his face creasing into even more lines of worry as he tried to recall if that was the case or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ross held up his hand and smiled at his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peace, Francis. No. I simply came to keep you posted on the itinerary and of what will happen once we hit anchor in Halifax.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis deflated, his eyes closing briefly in relief as the words sank in. The peace lasted all of a few moments when his eyes widened, bottom lip trapped between his teeth as Ross’ words sank in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it to do with Jam-Fitzjames’ state?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ross’ brow furrowed, then his face smoothed out into an apologetic expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. And some of the others, of course. Lt Jopson for one. And the First Master Collins would be another. But he is one of the main reasons. In case things don’t improve. I’m so sorry, Francis. I really am.” Ross apologised, regretting having to come out and say what had been only murmured about. A shadowy possibility that was now a probability since it had been spoken out loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis’ eyes flashed angry blue for a moment, making James brace himself for an angry outburst. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>An outburst that never arrived, since the anger left Francis as fast as it had come over him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes flickered all over the place and he seemed much more older and fragile than he had in the past few weeks. The coat didn’t help the impression and Ross couldn’t help himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached out and clasped Francis’ shoulder and squeezed it. He frowned at how thin Francis had gotten during those years on the ice. Francis’ shoulder felt as if it would snap if Ross had pressed harder, so he let his friend go. He promised himself that once they were back in England, Francis would stay with him and Anne for as long as it took to get him healthy again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Fitzjames. If he survived the crossing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t want to say anything before. Namely because I didn’t want you to think it’s a lost cause for Fitzjames. Believe me. Yet I didn’t want to give you false hope either. That wouldn’t be fair to you, Francis.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis smiled briefly. A thin ghost of a smile for his friend before he spoke again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was holding out a foolish hope he would come back from it and be like he was before. He survived so much only to die on the way home? It doesn’t make sense. But then, none of this did. I didn’t want to believe it, but Neil and Goodsir are in there with him and it’s shaking the foundation of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis shook his head. “I’ve not asked for anything in so long...Yet him coming through...That’s all I want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ross squeezed Francis’ shoulder and gave him a sympathetic look. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the first time that Francis had laid himself so bare and so raw to him and he was both surprised and at a loss. He wanted to offer more comfort than he was recently doing, wanted to say something that wasn’t dull or trite. Or insulting to both Francis and Fitzjames. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he found nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was a relief for both when Little appeared looking for Ross, since it let them extricate themselves from the situation and push their emotions down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like they always had done.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Gravity, no escaping, not for free</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>They're on their way out of the arctic, but for some, the journey from death's edge is a bit longer than they had anticipated.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is kind of a glimpses into the healing and convalescence of a few of the crew, from three of the worst affected and fills in some of the blanks before the next two chapters, which I'm planning to take place in Halifax and then moving focus on James and Francis in England. I must be tired, since I do write about sleep a lot. Huh. Anyways, enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> Chapter 2-Gravity, No Escaping. Not For Free </em>
</p><p>Thomas’s eyes fluttered weakly and his hand scrabbled weakly for Ned’s. Where was Ned? He had promised to not leave him! Even if his wound was open and bleeding, Ned had <em> promised.</em></p><p>His eyes finally opened enough, but his vision was blurry and unfocused. Everything was fuzzy and darkish as he tried to place where he was. He knew he wasn’t in the tent anymore. But where exactly was he? Was it a dream? Was he dead? </p><p>He tried to sit up and accidentally jostled his injured leg, the pain of the movement making him cry out in pain. He could feel wetness there as the pain made his leg throb, but it didn’t matter. He had to find Edward if it was the last thing that he did. </p><p>“Oh God! Edward! Edward?”</p><p>He tried to sit up, but was held down by strong hands. Someone wiped his face with a cool cloth, while someone else whispered it would be well. Hands opened his mouth to pour something sour, then sickly sweet down his throat. He swallowed, shuddering as it went down. </p><p>He felt gentle hands push his hair back and wipe his face dry again before he felt the press of chapped lips on his forehead. </p><p>“Thomas, please. It’s alright. You’re alright. I’m here with you. We’ve been rescued. We’re safe. You don’t have to fight. It’s alright,” Edward murmured, pulling away when Thomas’ rainwater eyes were able to open and focus on the still bearded and weather beaten face of his Edward. </p><p>He smiled and laughed in relief, reaching out with a trembling hand to touch Edward’s face to prove to himself that yes, this was his Edward and he wasn’t dead. </p><p>Edward smiled, his face brightening up when the back of Thomas’ fingers brushed his cheek. He grasped Thomas’ hand and pressed it against his face.</p><p>“See? I’m here. You don’t have to worry about anything but getting better, Thomas. You’ll be there soon. And we will walk together. I promise you, Thomas.”</p><p>Thomas nodded, wanting to say the same, but the heavy and warm feeling coursing through his body was making him sluggish and sleepy, the pain in his leg long forgotten by the appearance of Edward and whatever had been poured down his throat. He recognised the effects of the laudanum that they had no doubt made him swallow earlier and all he could was blink owlishly at his Ned.</p><p>Edward smiled at him once again, pressing a soft kiss to his hand before murmuring, “sleep Thomas. It will be well. Sleep.”</p><p>Thomas nodded, his movements faint as the medicine took him under.</p><p>Edward watched him for a few minutes to make sure that Thomas was not going to wake up and tucked his arm under the blankets. He then pulled them up and tucked them under Thomas’ chin before settling down in the chair beside the cot. He would have stayed there, but Harry Goodsir and Neal had other plans.</p><p>Edward felt vaguely guilty the moment that he stepped inside the officer’s quarters, but he needed the breathing space. He could feel the anxiety building up, making his hands shake and knew he had to leave the sick bay. Even though he wanted to stay by Thomas’ side and comfort him in any way that he could, he had reached his limits. </p><p>Something that he hadn’t realised, but Harry Goodsir had. And in his kind, but firm manner, had led him away from a sleeping Thomas.</p><p>“He is doing well now. But you won’t be if you don’t take care of yourself, Edward. Get some rest and some food in you and don’t come back until you’ve gotten a decent amount of rest.”</p><p>Edward didn’t have time to do anything else other than be led outside and head to his quarters. He must have told the steward something, since he found a hot meal waiting for him as well as water and soap for him to wash with. He was grateful for the small comforts after so much time out in the shale and cold and took his time washing up and eating. </p><p>The guilt at being away from Thomas eased a bit once he was clean and got some food inside of him. He smiled faintly at the fact as he walked further into the berth he was sharing with some of the few remaining officers of the Terror and Erebus. The officers of the <em> Enterprise </em> had been quite accomodating in that regard and Edward was glad of it. He doubted that he could have been able to deal with the relief of being rescued and the trauma of their last days in the Arctic with anyone else but his fellow crewmates. </p><p>And even that could be a fraught situation,since there was a tension in the air between Dundy, Irving, and Hodgson and Edward wasn’t about to wade into it. He knew that it had something to do with what happened on King William Island and that was all he had cared to find out. </p><p>Once Thomas had fallen ill, Edward had pushed his own anxieties and worries away and had focused on the well-being of their newest fellow officer. Thomas had suffered horribly from the scurvy, his leg taking the worst of it. </p><p>Even now, Edward’s stomach clenched uncomfortably when he recalled how ghastly the wound itself had been once the scurvy had set in. He shuddered involuntarily and had to force himself to take deep breaths as the memory of the sight and smell of it when Goodsir had bandaged it overwhelmed him. He clenched his fist and forced himself to take in the scent of wool, wood, unwashed bodies and the feel of his own too big uniform in. He wasn’t there anymore. </p><p>Thomas wasn’t in danger. They had food, medicine, and were on their way home. Thomas wasn’t in a tent. He was being taken care of by Goodsir and by Dr. Neal. </p><p>He repeated these things over and over again until he believed them and opened his eyes to find Dundy watching him, the pen in his hand sitting beside the half-finished letter he was working on. Irving was looking down at a book, but his hand was on the page. </p><p>“Everything all right, Edward?” Dundy asked, his voice light as he spoke, but the concern was clear in his eyes as he waited for Edward to speak. Irving too, had that tense watchfulness and Edward had to wonder how badly off he was if they were being careful with him. </p><p>“Yes. Everything is. Just had a bit of a spell,” Edward explained as he moved to his allotted bunk and began to take off the outer layers of his uniform. </p><p>Dundy watched him for a few minutes before he nodded to himself and returned to his letter. </p><p>“And how is Lt. Jopson faring then?” Irving asked, finally turning the pages of his book before looking up at Edward, who was crawling into bed.</p><p>“Much better. The wound is still worrying, but Goodsir doesn’t think he’s going to lose the leg anymore,” Edward replied. Irving nodded and Dundy made a low noise. </p><p>“That’s good for him. Hopefully he will continue to improve as we travel and a few months in England should set him and all of us to rights," Irving commented.</p><p>“Agreed. Although I will say that if I stay in the service, I’ll make sure to sign up for somewhere warm. Just a word of advice for you both. I’m done with the Arctic. I’d like to keep the toes I still have, thank you very much,” Dundy added, making both Irving and Edward snort in laughter. </p><p>“You’re not wrong with that!” Edward agreed, while Dundy nodded in acknowledgement. </p><p>“I’m done here, Irving. Do you still want the lamp on?” Dundy asked as he folded up his letter and put it on the corner on the desk. </p><p>Irving shook his head, shutting his book and crawling into his bunk, “I think Edward has the right of it and we should call it a night. Feels like I haven’t slept well in years. Feels like it would be a shame to not rest,” Irving added as he pulled his blankets over him.</p><p>Dundy smiled at that. “True enough. I’ll put it out then. Hodgson said he wasn’t feeling well, so he might be spending time in the sick bay. Did you see him there?” </p><p>Edward shook his head, “I’m sorry, Dundy. I wasn’t really paying much attention to anything until Harry politely threw me out.”</p><p>Dundy let out a bark of a laugh, “He does that so well, doesn’t he? Well, no matter. Hodgson is probably getting taken care of as we speak. Sleep well, gentlemen. May our dreams be free from that nightmare.”</p><p>He blew out the lamp and the moment the berth was plunged into darkness, Edward himself was out as well.</p><p>~*~*~*~*</p><p>Harry felt the exhaustion of the day fall upon his shoulders like a heavy cloak. His eyes burned and his vision was starting to blur. His jaw cracked as he yawned, making his eyes water. The tears made his eyes burn and he rubbed at them, yet again wishing for his spectacles. </p><p>“<em>I</em><em>n Edinburgh. I can hold out until then </em>,” he thought to himself as he rotated his neck and forced himself to stand up straight. He was tired. So tired, but there was still so much work to do. Even with Neal and his assistant, Goodsir was working long, long shifts. </p><p>Something that he wouldn’t have minded if it had just been himself, but that wasn’t the case.</p><p>At the thought, he glanced over to one of the curtained off beds in the sick bay. The one that was closest to his own cot and the desk that he shared with Neal. He watched the curtains and was relieved to see the lamp off and no glow being cast in the rest of the dim bay. </p><p>Harry glanced over to the other occupants of the berth and was relieved to see that most were sleeping. Well, he wasn’t sure about Blanky, but the man was drugged to the gills. If he was still awake after the amount of laudanum they had given him earlier, he would be surprised. </p><p>He made a mental note to check on Blanky and the others in a few hours. He knew he was far too tired to do anything properly at that moment and needed sleep. He smiled at the irony of not following the advice he had given Ned Little and decided he would do as he said. </p><p>But first…</p><p>He made one last turn, satisfied that everyone was still sleeping before he went over to the curtained off area. He slipped in as quietly as he was able and sat down in the chair, careful to not make noise as he did. </p><p>Still, he waited for a few minutes before he reached out to stroke the forehead of the patient in the bed.</p><p>It was hard to wait, but he didn’t want to wake Collins up. Not when he had just started to get decent sleep and the wounds were showing improvement. The physical ones, at least. The mental ones had just started to show some improvement once he had been brought on the ship. And Harry suspected that the further they got away from the Arctic, the better they would get. </p><p>He would have to consult journals once he was home, but he had his suspicions that the trauma Collins had suffered was tied to the North and what he had seen there. It had stripped him of everything he had been until he had been left raw and vulnerable and without recourse but to numb himself to survive. And then the Tuunbaq had attacked and things had gone...Chaotic was the mildest term Harry could use for what had occurred</p><p>Harry’s hands had clenched at the memory of that confused and horrific day. So many dead men. So many men turned enemies in what felt like a blink of an eye. He wasn’t sorry to see Hickey hanged. He did pity Tozer though. The man had only been trying to do what he thought was the right thing for his men. </p><p>The others had been casualties of the Tuunbaq’s rage and Collins would have joined them if Fitzjames hadn’t been lucky enough to score two hits square into the beast and Harry finding him after. </p><p>He closed his eyes as he recalled how Collins had been sprawled on the shale like a broken doll, limbs splayed and his coat open to reveal the bloodied mess his dingy white jumper had become. Harry’s heart had skipped beats as he went to him, his fear being pushed back by the need to give aid and to check how badly he had been injured. </p><p>“It wants us <em> gone </em>,” Collins whispered brokenly, clinging to Harry with the last of his strength. </p><p>“Who wants us gone?” Harry asked, working quickly to assess and staunch the bleeding from the gashes the beast had dealt Collins. They weren’t as bad as Harry had feared, but they were deep enough to cause concern. He looked at Collins and sighed in relief when he didn’t see the sores of scurvy upon him. It would give him a fighting chance at least.</p><p>“The beast. The woman. All of them. Harry...We shouldn’t be here,” Collins whispered harshly before groaning and being unable to say anything else as the pain had overwhelmed him. </p><p>Harry hadn’t doubted that was the case, but didn’t mention his suspicions to anyone. At least not until Silna and the shaman had appeared and they had explained the situation to Crozier and him. </p><p>He shook his head and opened his eyes, finding himself in the sick bay again, sitting right beside a healthy and sleeping Collins. He reached out and combed back the too long curls, threaded with silver and slightly dry. He would have to wash them and oil them for Collins next time, Harry noted. He loved Collins’ hair, so like and unlike his own. </p><p>He tucked them behind his ear and for once, allowed himself the luxury of running his fingertips gently across his cheek, down to the startlingly bare planes of his face now that he had shaved. He ran his thumb lightly across Collins’ lips before pulling away. He would have liked to do more. Wake Collins up and kiss him until he was gasping for air.</p><p>He knew Collins wanted the same from the way he had moved closer to Harry when they ate. Or when Harry was able to have a break from the sick bay and he would bring Collins a book or a cup of tea and Collins’ hand would linger on his. Or the way that he would shyly and gingerly embrace him when they were in Harry’s quarters. The feelings were there, but they couildn’t quite act upon them yet. </p><p> Not when they were on a Navy ship. He had already run interference with Jopson and Little and it had been a close call a few times for them and him. Bridgens had done the same for the captains as their steward, but they were all playing a dangerous game. If the wrong person saw them, Harry doubted even their hardships would protect them from a lashing and demotion. </p><p>So he settled for these small interactions, and conversations fraught with meaning despite them looking otherwise to casual on-lookers. </p><p>He sighed and rubbed his eyes, wincing at how gritty they felt. He really needed to get some rest before he was completely useless. He moved to get up and do just that when Collins reached out for his hand. </p><p>“Did you just get here?” Collins whispered, his words thick with sleep. </p><p>“No. I was here for a bit. I have to sleep, but I wanted to see how you were,” Harry murmured back, clasping Collins’ hand and laying it on his chest. He stroked the back of it with his thumb, giving Collins some comfort before he left. </p><p>“Ah. I wanted to wake up. To see you. But you look tired. You need to sleep, Harry.” Collins replied, his eyes closing. The short conversation had taken it out of him, but Harry didn’t mind. He only tucked Collins’ hand under the blankets and stroked his forehead again. </p><p>“I will. Sleep well, Collins,” Harry whispered, getting a small noise of agreement in response before Collins’ breathing deepened as he went back to sleep again. </p><p>He watched Collins sleep for a few moments more, committing the sight to memory before he slipped out and went to his quarters. </p><p>He fell into his bunk and fell into a deep sleep the moment that his head touched the pillow.</p><p>~*~*~*~*~*</p><p>James blinked himself awake by a gentle touch on his shoulder. It was all he could stand even after being force-fed lemon juice and laudanum for what felt like weeks on end. He dimly recalled that they were on their way to Halifax, from one of the snatches of conversation he overheard in his delirium. So maybe it was close to that. But it felt as if he had been in that state for much longer than that. He had been barely conscious when that had happened, only the taste of it all in his mouth and the lessening of the pain telling him it wasn’t a figment of his imagination.</p><p>His arm and ribs felt like they were on fire and his one eye sticky with what he imagined was blood. He couldn’t find the words to ask and no one had told him. Not even Goodsir, whose face was the first he saw whenever he was finally conscious. Francis’s face being the second. </p><p>Like now. He could see the dark blue of a navy coat from where he lay and he knew it was Francis. Goodsir was always in his shirt-sleeves and James had no doubt he’d leave the navy as soon as they landed in Greenwich. He couldn’t blame him. Not after all they had faced. And not with Collins there needing to convalesce.</p><p>He lay there quietly and focused on the sparseness of the dark wood cabin, on the feel of the sheets and blankets. On the way the pain coursed through him. </p><p>He knew he was still in bad shape by the way that even shifting in bed hurt like the dickens. He could still feel the flesh working to seal itself up and he could feel the stickiness of the open sores against the pads of cotton and linen that bound them. His leg and arm shook with spasms that had him gritting his still loose teeth in pain. Everything was aching and wounds wept and he wondered, as he was fed laudanum and lemon juice, if they ever would heal. </p><p>His entire world at the moment was a circle of pain, with Goodsir, Bridgens, and Francis taking care of him as if he was a helpless infant. He was invalid, that was all too obvious by the fact that he couldn’t even roll over without needing help. </p><p>He hated it. Particularly whenever Francis was there to help. Bridgens and Goodsir understood. Both were his friends before they were his caretakers. But Francis? Even if he had submitted himself to being truly known, he hated that Francis was seeing him at his most vulnerable and weakest. </p><p>He would have said as much to him, but the words wouldn’t come. Not when his body was still so focused on healing what had been destroyed. He couldn’t voice it, couldn’t show it. </p><p>At least until today. </p><p>He felt his lips curve into a faint smile when he saw it was Francis there. Worn, pale, and gaunt, but alive. </p><p>“James! How are you today?” Francis whispered as he tenderly ran a wet cloth over his face and chest, the touch making James shiver with both the overstimulation and the pleasure of being actually <em> clean </em> and <em> warm </em> for the first time in recent memory. Even in dreams, the cold and the grittiness of his skin haunted him. So he relished the cleanliness whenever it came and was grateful for the soft bed and warm blankets he was nestled in. </p><p>“Better. Doesn’t hurt as much as it did before,” James managed to rasp out, his voice breaking close to end. </p><p>Francis frowned, yet said nothing as he poured a cup of water out, adding the lemon juice to it. He slid his hand under James’s head and lifted him up so he could drink. He did drink as much as he was able, closing his eyes and whispering his thanks when his head was laid back on the pillow. </p><p>“Better?” </p><p>James opened his eyes and nodded, “Very. Thank you, Francis.”</p><p>He wanted to say more, but his voice gave out. He could feel the exhaustion creeping up on him again and he wondered if Francis had put more laudanum in the water as well. </p><p>He heard Francis laughing and his hair pushed away from his face. No longer brittle, but still not quite the same as it used to be just yet. It would come in time, Goodsir had promised. But James had a hard time believing it. </p><p>“I didn’t, James. You’re still healing from the ordeal. There’s no shame in needing rest and time to heal. Little and the others are capable enough to handle the duties. There’s no shame in needing help, my James. None at all. Now rest.”</p><p>James wanted to protest that, “Francis-”</p><p>“No James. I know. I can see it in your face how you feel. And after having had Jopson take care of me like this, I get it. And I can tell you, my James, you don’t ever have to be ashamed to let me or Harry take care of you. Now sleep, darling,”</p><p>James’ eye slipped shut and his last conscious thought was whether he really had heard Francis call him ‘darling’ or not. </p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Farewell to Nova Scotia and its seabound coast</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jopson finally gets out and sees the sights of Halifax with Edward right beside him. Harry and Henry Collins share an interlude on the beach, and James makes a decision that Francis gets to see the end results of that changes the dynamics between them.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So it felt like time that they got a bit of a calm interlude before they head over to England and go on with their lives, so to speak. It is a hurt/comfort fic after all,so a bit of comfort doesn't hurt. And I have a soft spot for these guys actually getting some nice things for a bit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Edward and Thomas walked slowly through the Halifax docks, taking all of the movement, colours, and sounds in. It wasn't a big port, but it had more people than either of them had seen in years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a way, it was the perfect primer for when they would return to Greenhithe and London and Thomas found himself dreading the throngs that would no doubt meet them. Sir James would be again lauded a hero and they would also be cheered for coming back. For being the lucky ones to survive the wastes of the Arctic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As if that was something to be lauded, Thomas thought as he limped alongside Edward, leaning heavily on him as he did so. His leg was hurting him again and he could feel dampness on the bandages, but he didn’t want to go back to the ship just yet. He could deal with the ache and the bleeding. He just wanted to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>out</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After the blank barrenness of the tundra, and the darkness of the sick bay, he longed to be out and surrounded by colour. Surrounded by healthy people and </span>
  <em>
    <span>life. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It wasn’t the same, even if he was on the way to being back to his usual self and allowed out on the deck and handed some duties as the rest of the expedition survivors except the worst off were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fitzjames, Collins and Blanky being two of those who weren’t back on duty just yet. Thomas visited, but not as often as he had used to before he was pressed into work and put under Edward and Irving’s tutelage. The field promotion may not be ratified, he was aware of that, but passing an exam would be. And both men were doing their best to help him pass it, using the time on the voyage to drill him on naval knowledge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas appreciated it and loved working alongside Edward and Irving, but he also wanted to be alone with Edward for the first time in years. Irving was lovely company, but it was painfully obvious he was the third wheel. Even if he was kind enough to not impose or complain about the situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when Edward had asked him if he wanted to get to the British Sailor’s House and maybe take a walk around Halifax harbour, Thomas didn’t even think twice about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Halifax, despite being small, was a port like any other. And the people bustling about understood and minded their own business. So he and his dear Edward could be out and about and not raise an eyebrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although to be fair, Thomas admitted to himself, it wasn’t as if they were doing that on the ship either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the Enterprise crew kept their distance and if anyone noticed anything, they kept it to themselves. Ross himself seemed to turn a blind eye to the situation, and Thomas recalled the whispers that had surrounded the Antarctic expedition. But Ross was married and the rumours were just that, rumours. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Thomas had to wonder if there had been something. He had caught the way that Ross sometimes looked at the Captain when he thought no one was looking. He knew that glance. He had seen Bridgens have it. Harry Goodsir. Henry Collins. And the Captain himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you need a rest, Jopson?” Edward’s voice pulled him out of his musings and he nodded. His limp was heavy and he was practically forcing Edward to support most of his weight as they walked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That pub over there? I don’t quite fancy going to the Sallor’s Home just yet,” Thomas replied, gesturing to the pub that was thankfully only a few meters away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds like a plan. Thank goodness that they advanced us some of our pay. We can get a break from the rations at least,” Edward replied as they went to the pub.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agreed. If I don’t have to eat tinned rations ever again, I will be a happy man,” Thomas added as Edward helped him sit down in a corner booth that was mostly hidden and lit only by the dim lamps on the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not the only one. I’ll get us some food and drink then. I’ll be back shortly, Thomas,” Edward announced, his hand lingering briefly before he went to do just that, his touch warming Thomas as he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward hadn’t been so demonstrative before all of this, both of them bound by the strict hierarchy of rank and class. Edward hadn’t really noticed him before, Thomas mused as he drew circles on the stained wood of the table. He was sure that Edward didn’t recall him being the one to serve them at dinner so long ago. He probably only focused on Thomas when the Captain was drying out and when the Captain had given him his field promotion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of course, when he had finally succumbed to the scurvy and his leg getting worse. Thomas didn’t mind. Not now when he was with Edward and that rare, but open smile would light up Edward’s face whenever he saw Thomas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even with his future and promotion in the air, the one thing Thomas was sure of was the fact that he was the only one that Edward looked at in that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thomas?” he jerked at Edward’s voice, looking up in time to see him putting a tankard of ale down in front of him before sitting across from him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You alright? You seemed a bit distracted there,” Edward noted, taking a sip of his own drink and making a face at the taste of it before shrugging and downing a quarter of it in one go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a favourite, but it’s been years since I’ve had a decent pint,” Edward commented, almost to himself before he turned his attention back to Thomas, who was watching him with that soft, amused smile he knew he only got whenever he was around Edward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was besotted, he knew, and he didn’t give a damn. He was at least alive to feel it and that was all that mattered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward’s face softened and he smiled, reaching out for his hand and brushing their fingers together quickly before the barmaid came with their food. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only one dish?” Thomas asked after she had gone, making Edward laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not like we can eat more than that, Thomas. We were on the edge of starvation. Last thing I want is for you to be sick. Bad enough that your leg will need another bandage,” Edward pointed out, making Thomas grimace and agree as they both dug in to the simple pub fare of meat pies and vegetables on the side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, no, Thomas. I wasn’t chastising you. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> wanted this. And if I thought you were really badly off, I wouldn’t have agreed to come out. I would have strapped you to your bed if I had to. So stop worrying, yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward asked softly, reaching out for his hand and clasping it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And keeping it there no matter who passed by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~*~*~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry waded through the chilly waters of Dartmouth, bucket in hand as he peered through the waters in an effort to find more specimens to study and add to his collection. He had gotten permission to come ashore to do his scientific studies and was making the most of his time. So far, he had managed to get a handful of specimens. But he had spotted a cephalopod he hadn’t ever seen before and was on the hunt for it once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so keen on finding it once again that he didn’t notice the solitary figure slowly making its way towards the shore. The figure didn’t come into the water, pausing on the edge of the waves as they lapped up at the sand. It wasn’t until he slipped and nearly dumped his bucket that there was any action from the figure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Harry! Harry! Are you alright?” Henry asked as he pulled Harry upright. They stood there for a few moments and Harry could only look at Henry. Henry, whose face creased with worry as they stood in the shallow waves, Henry’s hands around him, their chests flush against each other’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were only in their shirts and vests and Harry could feel the frantic beating of Henry’s heart as his hands ran over Harry’s body, checking to make sure he was alright. Harry couldn’t say anything as Henry did his cursory check, the feel of Henry’s hands on his body freezing him motionless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind was blank and he could only note how Henry’s hands moved over his body. How his curls were blown in the sea breeze and how dark and focused his eyes were. His colour was good and he looked so vibrant and healthy and his hands felt so good on Harry’s touch starved skin that he was frozen like that, unable to do much but feel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was sure that he stopped breathing for a few moments as Henry touched him in the exact way that he had been longing for. He had longed for it so much that it hurt as he lay in his bunk, exhausted from a shift, yet unable to stop thinking of Henry. He didn’t think he started breathing again until Henry’s eyes met his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither of them spoke as they stared at each other, the water and the bucket completely forgotten as Henry’s head lowered and his lips met Harry’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kiss was nothing like he had imagined. It was tender and light, forcing him to chase after it. His lips parted out of their volition to let Henry in and explore to his heart’s content. He moaned when Henry took the invitation and kissed him, deeply and passionately as if Harry was air and he was starving for it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The force of his kiss stunned Harry, making him drop his bucket in the waves as he wrapped his arms around Henry, specimens be damned. He could always collect more. Kissing Henry for the first time was far more important. The rest of the world could fall away and it wouldn’t matter. Especially now that he was kissing his Henry and they would be going home soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must have made some kind of noise, and pushed Henry to cradle Harry’s head as they continued kissing, the waves lapping their legs as they stood there. His fingers threaded themselves through his curls and Harry moaned, the feel of it so damned good. No one had done that to him in years and he had forgotten how good it felt. He could have stayed there forever, with Henry ravishing his mouth if it hadn’t been for the seagulls clipping over their heads and squawking, finally pulling them apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bloody pests!” Henry muttered, annoyed at them ending their interlude. He waved them off while Harry laughed and picked up his bucket, noting that most of the specimens had survived. No doubt that had been the reason why the seagulls had been coming close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They didn’t take anything, did they?” Henry asked as he glanced up at the sky, making Harry do the same, both of them sighing when they saw the pale pink streaks of the evening cutting through the blue and white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it might be time to get back to the ship so there might not be time to replace your specimens,” Henry commented as he waited for Harry, his face fond as he watched his lover’s eyes widen and his mouth drop open in surprise before he checked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry peered into his bucket and shook his head, “Not as far as I can see. Besides, we can always come out tomorrow when I have some time free. We have a few days in Halifax. That is if you want?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry smiled. A small, shy smile. But a smile nonetheless. It was one of the first smiles Harry had seen cross his love’s face in what felt like years and he committed it to memory before it quickly faded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. It’s what I always want. To be with you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry swallowed hard at the response. Despite knowing it, having proof of it, hearing it come from Henry’s own lips made it all so real and so painful and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the same time. He felt tears prickle his eyes and he tried to not cry, his emotions in a flux after having to hide them and shove them down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lost that battle though, when he felt them slide down his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or they would have, if Henry hadn’t moved closer and wiped them with the back of his hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean it, Harry Goodsir. I want to be with you. For as long as we have. That’s what I want,” Henry whispered roughly, his eyes deep and dark pools as he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry looked at him and had to hold himself together as he saw that Henry meant every single word he had spoken.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Harry couldn’t just leave it like that. Not when Henry had bared his soul to him and him alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too, Henry Collins. Me too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry’s face brightened at Harry’s soft confession and he held out his hand for Harry to take. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come then. No sense in you slipping again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughed as he reached out to take Henry’s hand. Once he had a firm grip on Henry’s hand, they headed towards the beach, leaving the sea to the seagulls and the creatures within it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~*~*~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James hadn’t thought much about his hair until he woke up the third day of their stay in Halifax and ended up accidentally pulling out what seemed like a handful of strands. Dry and brittle, they looked like brown straw in his good hand. He let them drop on the floor and laid back down on his pillows and closed his good eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been preying on the back of his mind whenever Francis or Bridgens had helped him wash and tidy his hair. Strands and more strands had come out of the now lank locks. And this morning was the last straw. As much as he hated the idea of losing what little of his former vanity remained, he knew that he had no choice but to get rid of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fought the decision. Fought it hard, but after the last handful of hair to fall out, he knew he was beaten and had to shear it off. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He groaned at the thought as he rubbed his face with both hands. He knew he would look even worse than he did now. A pitiful wreck that was still in bed while the rest of his men were able to move about and even help out in the sailing of the ship. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even Collins had started to venture out in the harbour, as per Harry’s enthusiastic reports. Peglar and Jopson were able to be up and walking about. Only he was the only one who was still unable to stand, never mind walk, unaided. He hated being the only one still in bed and needing to be nursed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so sunk into his own loathing for his perceived weakness that he didn’t hear the knocking on the door until it creaked open. He lowered his hands down and tried to smile at Francis, who was carrying the tray of bland gruel, weak tea and glass of lemon juice. He knew he had failed when Francis put the tray down on the desk beside James’ berth and sat down on the only chair in the room, bringing it closer to James. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did something happen, James?” Francis asked without preamble, making James cringe at having worried Francis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peace, Francis. I’m as well as can be expected. It’s more of a realisation that I came to this morning and I am still working to come to terms with it,” James explained, his mouth twisting once he was done his explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis only raised an eyebrow at that, not fully convinced by James’ explanation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What was the realisation that you came to? Forgive me, James, but your explanation was far from clear and quite vague. What exactly are you having a hard time accepting?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis asked, his brows drawing together as he tried to understand what James meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James chewed on his lip for a moment before he finally gathered up enough of his courage to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Francis, I want to cut off my hair. Will you ask Bridgens if he’d be available to help with the task?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis’ mouth thinned itself into a flat line as he sat back in his chair, weighing James’ request. He wasn’t happy about what James had just asked for, but then, it wasn’t for him to make the final decision. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He understood how much James’ hair meant to him and had tried along with Bridgens, to make it look presentable even if James was mostly bed bound. He could see it was a losing battle, but had dismissed it as being the scurvy. He still had hopes that once James was fully healthy, the glossy waves would return.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet hearing James’ request, he had to admit that maybe it was time to put that hope away. If James was adamant that it was a lost cause, who was he to disagree. But he still couldn’t help but to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure about this?” Francis asked quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James' mouth curled up in a rueful smile and he nodded, “As much as I want to keep my last vanity, I know that it is time to stop prolonging the inevitable. So if you could get Bridgens for me, I would greatly appreciate it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis nodded. “I can do that. When do you want to do this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“After breakfast, if it can be done?” James asked, his voice going back to nearly the usual briskness that Francis recalled from their early days of the expedition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis smiled as he stood to help James sit up to eat. He arranged a few of the pillows and placed the tray on James’ lap. He waited until James had picked up the spoon before he headed towards the steward’s quarters. He knew James hated it when he or anyone else hovered over him, so he decided the best course of action was to let him be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That can be arranged. Why don’t you start on the gruel while I fetch Bridgens?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James made a small noise of agreement at that, “I can do that. Thank you, Francis.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome. I’ll be back with Bridgens shortly,” Francis promised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James smiled his thanks and Francis left him to do as he was asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A task that took no time at all, since Bridgens was up and ready, anticipating the request, it seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was something that Francis commented on when Bridgens put his book down and picked up his kit to follow Francis out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, sort of, Sir. Many of the men have been asking to get haircuts and shaves, so I have been obliging them. I’ve taken to keeping the kit ready just in case,” the older steward explained as he tucked his grooming kit under his arm and followed Francis to James’ berth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s very kind of you, Bridgens. I’m sure many of the men appreciate it. It probably helped many of them put the expedition behind them once they had the chance to look like themselves again,” Francis commented as they reached James’ berth and knocked on the door, entering when he heard James’ voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They entered and Francis was pleased to see James had finished everything on the tray with no mess. He also could see that James was tense, his hands gripping the tray tightly as his eyes landed on-</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As much as it hurt him and as much as he wanted to stay and support James in his transformation, he could see James didn’t feel the same. And as much as it pained him, he knew that it would be for the best to leave James to it. He knew it stemmed from his need to be seen as strong and in control and Francis didn’t have the heart to embarrass him by staying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he went and gently took the tray from James and gestured for Bridgens to go to James.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’ll leave you both to it. I’ll stop by later then,” Francis announced, letting himself out and closing the door behind him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though it stung, he knew it was the right thing to do when Bridgens came looking for him while he and Ross discussed some of the magnetic findings they had managed to salvage from the few log books that had survived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He wants to see you, Captain. If you can spare the time, that is,” Bridgens had stated, before he gave Ross a nod and melted away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ross only raised an eyebrow, laughing softly, “Go. We were done here anyways. Give Fitzjames my regards.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis started at that, giving Ross a sharp glance that his old friend waved away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t need to explain, Francis. Nor will anything be said once we get to England. We both know how gruelling a time you and your men had. None of us are in position to judge what kept you alive and helped you survive. You have my word on it, Francis.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis swallowed hard at that and only clapped a hand on Ross’ shoulder before he went to James’ room and found the door cracked open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet he still knocked on it and waited until James gave him permission to enter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And stopped in his tracks once he was inside the berth, his mind stuttering to a halt as he tried to reconcile the sight before him to the man he had worked alongside for years. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was James. Yet it wasn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This James’ hair was shorn close to his scalp. Shorter than even the young sailors. It was still a rich, dark brown, but had more pronounced streaks of white and grey mixed in. It made James look more defined, yet more fragile at the same time. The planes of his face, his cheekbones, they were all the more prominent now that the hair was gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was beautiful in a way that Francis hadn’t ever noticed before. A beauty that he both wanted to hold and protect, yet push away. A beauty that was here and his to behold. And Francis found himself unable to speak as it all dawned on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now you understand why I had you go?” James asked as Francis moved to take his usual seat beside his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was hard enough for </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see it. I would have broken if you had been there to see it happen. You’ve seen me undone too many times. I couldn’t bear to have another one added.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis reached out and took one of James’ hands, stroking it in a way that was reminiscent of them being in the tent together all those months ago, sure that they would die on that barren land. He let James study his face to find what he was looking for, letting his sharp gaze pass over him before he was finally able to look at him and speak. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand. Even though I can promise you that was the last thing I would have thought of if I had been here. Yes, it is a startling change, but it is not an undoing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James raised an eyebrow, “No? Then what is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A metamorphosis,” Francis replied right before he took the chance and kissed James. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had half expected to be pushed away when he felt James’ hand on his chest and was more than a bit surprised when he was pulled closer. .</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed,” James murmured, breaking the kiss what felt like ages later, “A metamorphosis indeed.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Take me back to my home and shelter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Thomas Blanky and Francis discuss what awaits in London, Harry and Henry Collins discuss their reluctance at coming home and disillusionment, Thomas and Edward have an interlude, and James and Francis attend the court martial, with unpleasant results.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I just realised that Blanky needed his own scene, so here we are. I wanted to have everyone note a particular part of the passage, hence the way that it is arranged and sorted. Yup.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Francis couldn't help but to smile when he came to visit his old friend, Blanky. Despite missing most of his leg, Blanky was about the same as always. He was sitting up in his berth with his crutch nearby and a mug of tea in his hand. The pipe was sitting on the nightstand, packed with tobacco and ready to go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Francis! Been a dog's age since I saw you last! How are you?" Blanky greeted him as he put his mug on the table and shifted himself in his bunk in order to sit up to face his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Never mind me. How are you? How's the leg?" Francis asked, looking for a chair and finally finding one by the cabin's only desk and pulling it near him to sit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas shrugged, giving his truncated limb a brief glance before looking back at his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn't been happy that he had to have even more of his leg taken off, leaving only a few inches of it sticking out below his hip. But at least he hadn't been awake to see that operation happen this time around. And the gangrene was gone, so he couldn't be angry about that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was alive. He was nearly healthy, and he was going to go home to his wife and his girls and live the quiet life of a publican. He was done with the navy and as soon as he could, he would be going up to Whitby.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was that which kept him going and kept him sanguine enough to give his answer to Francis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The gangrene is gone and the doctors say it's healing nicely. It was a close call, though," Blanky replied in a low voice, wincing as he shifted his weight to keep it off from the still heavily bandaged stump. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis winced and nodded in agreement, "That it was. I'm glad to see you alive and awake old man. Are they still giving you laudanum?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blanky waggled his hand back and forth, "Not as often. As much fun as it was in the beginning, unless it's hurting like fury, no. I won't let them. I've seen what that stuff that does to men. I doubt that Esther and the girls would like an opium addict being underfoot. No."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis only made a face at that. He understood all too well the dark spaces that addiction could take a man. He probably would have gotten further into those spaces if it hadn't been for Jopson's help and their being stuck. He would have probably killed the remaining men if he hadn't managed to get sober. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis also understood Blanky's concern. With his leg gone, he would definitely be retired from the Navy. He recalled that they owned a small pub and one addiction could be transferred for another. He personally doubted that Blanky would go that route, but he was also aware that with enough pain and despair, anyone could spiral. Even someone as strong-willed as Blanky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Understandable. You'd be a bigger pain in their arses otherwise," Francis snorted, making Blanky snort out a laugh and easing the sober atmosphere of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Also very true. But I don't need it any longer. Besides, I'd rather be clear-headed when we get to London," Blanky commented, making Francis grimace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It won't be easy. Even with Ross taking the brunt of it all, there will be curiosity about the rest of the men. I can take it. You can too. The others?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis leaned over, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sure you know the answer to that. No. It won't be easy, but hopefully the crowds and the hacks will be more infatuated with Ross' heroic face and not bother the rest of us, " Francis replied, making Blanky bark out a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Granted that could do it. But don't sell yourself or the second handsomest man in the Navy short. Or your lieutenants. They've recovered well from what I've seen of them. Surely the crowds will take notice of them."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis sighed heavily, rubbing his face roughly as he contemplated his friend's words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't doubt it. We came back from the dead. Everyone will want their pound of flesh. Rest assured that I won't let them get it," Francis vowed, his voice a low growl that made Blanky hum in agreement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Have you and Ross made any plans on how to do this?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis sat back and crossed his arms in front of his chest, "A few. We still have two weeks before we land. I'll run some ideas past him. I'm sure he is the last person that wants the broadsheets to run whatever sensationalism once we're in England. Neither would his uncle."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blanky scoffed, "I guess it's the one advantage of being a peer and a naval hero. Hope you get one so you can pull rank in our favour."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis laughed at that, shaking his head, "Only for you, I would. Only for you."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blanky raised an eyebrow at that, "Only me?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis glared at him, making Blanky cackle at his expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You know the answer to that, Thomas," Francis replied stiffly, making his friend cackle even louder at Francis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just wanted to hear you say it. Especially since neither of you will be going back to the Navy anytime soon. And in James' case, maybe not at all."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis sighed heavily, rubbing his face roughly again. Blanky only watched him, his expression neutral as he did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Am I right? Or did I over estimate his illness?" Blanky queried softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis shrugged, "He's getting better, but it's hard to tell. Jopson, Peglar, and the others have nearly gotten back to normal. He's still barely able to stand on his own. His wounds are healing far too slowly. Even Harry Goodsir is starting to be concerned."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blanky nodded, his hands pleating his rough blankets as he digested what Francis was telling him about James. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had known that James had been badly affected by both the scurvy and the reopening of his wounds. He just hadn't realised the extent of the damage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hadn't been clear when they had been walking. He had been so focused on taking one step after the other that he had only seen the collapse of Fitzjames. He had seen Francis stick like glue to the man that he had despised earlier in the expedition. But Thomas had hoped that it didn't mean the end for the other man. Not when they had such a distance to go still.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't until much later that he had discovered how badly James truly had been. The scurvy had wreaked havoc on him, hitting him worse than Jopson and Collins. Even Peglar and Hodgson and several of the others that had looked as if they were at death's door had gotten better. Enough so to stop by and visit him whenever they were able. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James though, hadn't. And if he was still that badly off, Blanky was willing to bet that James wasn't going to be sailing with the Navy again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Maybe he will get better once we're in England. Get Ross to set you both up in one of his country estates. He can do that much for you. If you were to ask," Blanky pointed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis made a small noise of agreement at the suggestion, "It could work. That's if James doesn't decide to go to his brother's house. They are in the country and near the seaside as well."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blanky laughed at that, "Do you think he actually would? After all you two have gone through?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis' mouth opened and closed a few times as he tried to think of a reason as to why James would turn down an invitation from him to stay at Ross' home. He finally gave up and shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't get smug. Just because I can't think of anything right now, doesn't mean that there aren't reasons for him to say no," Francis pointed out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blanky only grinned at that, "Keep telling yourself that, Francis."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis glared at him and shook his head, knowing better than to get into this thread with Blanky again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Alright. You've won this round. Don't let it get to your head," Francis warned, making Blanky laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~*~*~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry shivered as he and the others stood at the deck, watching as the Enterprise got closer and closer to Greenwich. Despite the air being far warmer than it had been in the Arctic, he couldn't help it as the shores of England got closer. He was always cold and it was only eased whenever his Henry was near. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled his coat closed, hoping to find lingering warmth in its folds as he stood there. He didn't want to go below deck and miss the first sight of Britain he had in years. He wanted to see it with his own eyes and know that it wasn't just wishful thinking or a dream that he was finally going to go home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shivered again and had to clamp his mouth shut when his teeth started to chatter. The chill had sunk into his bones and he felt as if he was freezing from the inside out. He wrapped his arms around himself, hoping that would help, but the chill remained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sighed, readying himself for the disappointment of not seeing the harbour and the land he had given up hope of ever seeing when an arm was wrapped around him. He looked up at Henry's softly smiling face as he then burrowed into his side. Henry was warm and gave off heat like a furnace, slowly warming Harry up enough so that his teeth didn't chatter any longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cast a glance around and noticed many of the men doing the same thing. The deck was crowded enough to give them some kind of camouflage, so Harry relaxed and instead focused on leaning against Henry and staying warm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It's hard to believe we're nearly home," Henry murmured, turning his head so that Harry was tucked into his shoulder, giving him some shelter from the wind. And the inevitable attention that would come once they would pull into the harbour and set foot on land once again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Already, Harry could see the crowd gathered at the docks, curious to see not only the naval hero, but the survivors of a failed expedition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Funny how they come to greet us despite us technically being failures," Harry murmured, making Henry snort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's Britain for you: Turning failures into minor setbacks and heroes into myths. All for the Queen and Empire," Henry muttered, pulling Harry closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry only hummed in agreement. Henry wasn't saying anything that he or the others didn't already think or say amongst themselves already. Or out loud like Henry did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Indeed. How else would you keep the Empire going?" Harry whispered back to Henry whose response was to embrace him tightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course," Henry replied, his answer nearly lost in the sound of the cheering coming from the shore and from their fellow crewmates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It won't be us anymore, love. I can tell you that," Harry promised, turning around to look at Henry's pale, still gaunt face, framed by the still too long curls now streaked with white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry smiled at Harry's fervent promise, "Of course. I wouldn't expect anything else from you. I can promise that as well. Once we set foot in England and get through the court-martial, we are done with this."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever Harry was going to say next was lost in the sound of not only the ship docking, but the loud eruption of the crowd on the shore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The men moved, impatient to be the first down the gangplank, jostling Harry and Henry, prompting Henry to reach out and grasp Harry's hand tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ready?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Henry smiled wryly, "As much as I can be."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry laughed, "Same."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The gangplank was lowered and they followed the men as they all made their way towards the dock and the cheering humanity that awaited them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~*~*~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas Jopson shifted nervously from foot to foot as he waited for Edward to unlock the door and let them inside the rooms that he had procured for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were a few streets away from where Thomas would have taken lodgings earlier and the difference was obvious. The paint and wallpaper were clean and well kept. The landlady was actually sober and the servants didn't look lousy or filthy. This was definitely a step up and he wasn't sure how he felt about the change of his situation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have gone home right away. Sent word to his mother (if she was still alive) and his brother after he was forwarded an advance on his pay. Even though he was sure if she lived, she would have spent it on laudanum as soon as she got it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He should have done all of this. He should have remained a dutiful son and gone, yet once Edward had asked if he wanted to lodge with him he couldn't bear to say no. They had been together so many years that he couldn't fathom walking away from him so easily. Even if he was required to by his familial duty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To assuage his guilt, he did the next best thing and sent a note to his brother, assuring him he was both alive and in London and would see him soon. He had enough foresight to not write an exact date of when this was to happen. There was something in the way that Edward looked at him as he too sent off his own note that inspired him to be vague. He had a feeling that they both needed this interlude before they went back into their families and to the Navy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the thought of going back to the Navy, Thomas refused to think about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn't ready to go back out to the sea just yet. He was only now finally healed, the scar tissue thick on his leg and the limp barely there. The other marks of scurvy faded away. He was still too thin, as all of them were. He needed a bit more time to get back to what he was like before they set sail. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He also needed time to get over the nightmares that would pounce in the darkness if he wasn't careful. He hadn't seen the beast like many of the others had. But he had heard enough for it to leave its mark on him as surely as it had left its mark on Collins and the captain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And on Edward too, Thomas reminded himself as he glanced at Edward, who had finally managed to open the room and push the door open for him to enter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been nights when Edward too needed someone to reassure him in the middle of the night when the ghosts of the Arctic were too loud and too vivid. He would be fine in the morning, leaving Thomas' bed with a murmured thanks before he resumed his duties. He was still trying to reconcile himself with all the experiences and even though it wasn't as visible as Thomas' own wounds, he understood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sharpness in his face and the still too long hair that made him look even more vulnerable reminded Thomas of that and brought him back to the present as Edward finally managed the finicky lock and got the door open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"After you," Edward murmured, smiling his shy smile as Thomas returned it with one of his own as he stepped into the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was bright and cheery, with patterned green wallpaper, a washstand, and two freshly made beds. Large windows on one side and a cheery fire in the small fireplace right in front of the beds. A small clothes press and a table and two chairs completed the decor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Good for a few nights, do you think?" Edward wondered, setting his meager bag down on the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas was brought back and nodded, doing the same as Edward and putting his own bag beside his as well as shedding his threadbare coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"More than enough. Thank you, darling Edward. For the rooms and for the opportunity to have some space until we have to go back to out there again," Thomas added softly, raising his eyes to meet Edward's own dark, unfathomable eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward's face went through several emotions that Thomas couldn't quite pin down to say which was the dominant one. At least not until the end when all he could see was love. It stunned him and left him standing there, not sure what to do. But Edward himself did. He walked over to Thomas and took his hand, cradling it in his own rough hands. They were warm though, and he couldn't help but to lift his other hand to cradle Edward's hands as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You don't have to thank me, Thomas. Not when you have also sheltered me in my time of need. I care about you so much, Thomas. So much," Edward's voice dropped into a hoarse whisper, and he had to stop to compose himself before continuing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Would it be selfish of me to say that I want this interlude only with you? Before we have to be out there, telling a story and going back to what the Navy wants us to be? Or would it be something that you so desperately want with me as well?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thomas nodded, his smile wide and his eyes bright as he agreed. "Yes, love. Yes."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward blew out a breath of relief before he smiled like a giddy school boy, the smile as bright as it had been when Thomas had been promoted in that tent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was so sweet and open that Thomas couldn't help himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without preamble, he leaned over and kissed Edward. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward froze at first, too stunned to react to the fact that his Thomas was kissing him. After all those weeks of chaste kisses and cuddling, Thomas was kissing him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was all that he ever wanted and more. He let of Thomas' hands and pulled him close, his hands in Thomas' perfect hair as he returned and deepened the kiss. A kiss that had Thomas stumbling at the force of the desire within it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Edward steadied him, his hands all over him as the kiss continued, raw and primal until they both pulled away from each other to breathe and lean against each other. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stood there, looking at each other, smiling a little when a sharp knock at the door pulled them apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yes?" Edward called out as Thomas frantically worked to smooth his hair down and look as if he and Edward hadn't been kissing each other breathless a moment before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Mrs Cameron's wanting me to tell you supper's going to be ready in ten minutes in the tap room if ye want it!" A young boy yelled out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll be there!" Edward called out to the boy, who didn't reply as he ran down to the taproom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Later, then?" Thomas asked evenly, making Edward snort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"As if you even had to ask. Of course, love."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~*~*~*~*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James could feel the weight of Francis' eyes on him as the valet Ross had employed for him and Francis helped him to his feet. The valet had done all he could to make James appear as close as he did when he was fully healthy, combing out the short, greyed hair and adjusting the eyepatch over his still weak eye. The jutting of his bones couldn’t be helped, but tailoring made his dress uniform fit perfectly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He adjusted the position of the crutch under his arm and took a few steps towards Francis, who was watching him with clear trepidation on his face. The valet hovered, then backed away one he saw James was steady on his feet and didn’t require his help like usual. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Thank you. That will be all," James murmured to the valet, who nodded and discreetly made his way out of their room at Ross' house. The room was silent until the door clicked shut, leaving Francis and James alone for the first time that day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis didn't speak right away and instead, arranged his uniform to his liking before he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"For the last time, I must ask. Are you sure that you are well enough to attend the court-martial? I could do it alone. You heard Ross. You could excuse yourself."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James' mouth twisted as he chewed on his bottom lip, as if he was tasting his words before he finally spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I understand your concern, Francis. I really do. But I have to be there. I know that Ross says it's a formality, but how can we be so sure of that?" Francis winced at the way that James' voice cracked on the last word and reached out to James, who shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"James, I understand. I do. But I am concerned about your health and a court martial would be the last place where I would want to be, if I was in your place. That's why I'm asking, James."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The last was said quietly as James bit his lip before nodding and trying again to explain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know. It isn't where I want to be either. But don't you see, I have to-No, I need to- Francis. I stood beside you as we tried to leave that wretched place until I couldn't. So how could I leave you alone now? What kind of a man would that make me, Francis?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was silent after James's proclamation. Neither man dared to break the tense silence that enveloped the room after James whispered those last words. Neither man knew how to break it. Or know exactly how, for that matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James looked away as he tried to get a hold of himself again. He wasn't sorry for the emotional outburst. He was only saying what he had been thinking and feeling ever since they had arrived in Ross' house and the topic was brought up by Ross himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis had been assured it was all a formality, yet James didn't want to completely rely on that being a sure thing. He knew how these things worked after having been in contact with the Barrows all those years. He also doubted that he wouldn't be called to be a witness. Ross and Francis doubted they would, since he had been so ill at the end. But again, James wasn’t going to bank on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as much as he was tempted to stay at the Ross house and wait for the results, he found he simply couldn't. There would be no rest for him if he let the man he loved walk into that courtroom alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As James struggled to verbalise his intentions, Francis was the one that finally ended their stalemate and made it unnecessary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I see. Then we must hurry. Ross is waiting for us and no doubt the carriage will be ready. Shall we?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He walked to the door, opened it and gestured James through, waiting for him to make his slow, but steady way out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Neither man said anything else as they met Ross in the hall. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet James could have sworn that as they sat in the carriage, Francis' hand slid around his, clasping it briefly before it slipped away again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~*~*~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What were you thinking, Francis?” Ross asked as they sat in the parlour, a glass of whiskey for himself and a cup of forgotten tea for Francis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis trained bleary, bloodshot eyes on Ross as he turned away from the bookshelf he had been staring mindlessly into for the last hour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both men ignored the rushing footsteps and loud voices that went past the closed rooms of Ross’ study. They both knew where they were headed. Now they were waiting on the news that was so slow in coming ever since that afternoon, when James had collapsed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was thinking he had every right to be there, that’s what I was thinking. He was my second! He was the reason why Collins survived! Why others survived after we hung the mutineers! Who was I to tell him to sit in the gallery and wait?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis asked harshly, making Ross sigh and down the last of the whiskey in his glass before pouring himself yet another one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.You’re right in that. I know I wouldn’t have. Nor would you have either. I apologise for my words,” Ross replied, his tone calmer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis sighed and drank down the lukewarm tea, grimacing at the taste of bitter old tea. He put the empty cup and saucer down, then turned to face his friend again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And it was ultimately his choice. You as well as anyone know about choice,” Francis added softly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Ross’ turn to flinch. If they all had made different choices, would Franklin and all those men lost still be alive? If Ross had taken the command? If Goldener’s hadn’t won the contract? If they had wintered in Greenland one more year? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ross shook his head. He and Francis had gone over all of these avenues, but it didn’t change the fact that there were scores of men dead, scores of men permanently injured in both body and mind, and one man back in the grip of illness again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis looked away, unsure if he should apologise or say anything else about that fact that Ross moved beside Francis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was his choice. As it was the Admiralty's choice to push when they saw him there. And ended up having to capitulate in the end. I’m sure that none of them will be resting easy over that. The newspapers have made sure of that,” he paused, then shot Francis a wry grin. “They might go wild once the knighthoods start coming in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis snorted, turning to face his friend and nodded in acknowledgement at the peace offering that Ross was giving him. It was true that the newspapers had done their best to push the tide in their favour. And he was willing to bet that Ross and even Anne herself may have had a hand in making it so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll direct them to your door. After all, you’re the hero of this piece, finding the lost expedition and all that,” Francis reminded him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ross opened his mouth to counter argue when there was a knock on the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enter.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor, a serious, grizzled man of middle age entered the room. His expression was neutral and giving nothing away as he closed the door behind him and turned to face Ross and Francis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both men stood still as they waited for the man to deliver his news. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Commander Fitzjames is resting now and I would recommend that for the foreseeable future. His health was strained as it is and this has set back his recovery for months. I recommend a quiet retirement in the meantime. Or he will take a turn for the worse.“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis exhaled loudly.  “That can be arranged. Will it be possible to see Commander Fitzjames?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The doctor pursed his lips and was about to reply when a nurse entered the room. Giving the two naval men a curtsey, she turned to the doctor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The patient just woke up, but he is agitated and demanding to see someone named Francis,” the nurse declared. Hearing that, Francis wasted no time in leaving the study much to the doctor’s irritation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let him. He’s the Francis Fitzjames wants. You won’t get anything else done with him otherwise,” Ross cautioned the doctor, who grumbled his annoyance before he and the nurse disappeared right after Francis, leaving Ross to his thoughts and his whiskey.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. I won't treat you like you're typical</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Francis is summoned to the Admiraltry offices and runs into the newly minted Lt. Jopson, leading to catching up between the two men. Later on, Francis and James share comfort and possibilities for them once James is better.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's a bit of a bittersweet chapter, but I wanted for Francis to play catch up and for James and Francis to have a bit of a sweet and hopeful interlude.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Francis had only just managed to keep his composure as he started to read the letter that had been at the pile of correspondence when he heard a familiar voice call his name.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Commander Crozier! Commander Crozier!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis looked up from the letter he was half-reading, puzzled as to who would be calling for him in the Admiralty office. He frowned, then smiled gladly when he saw that it was Lieutenant Jopson and that he was hurrying towards him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite the still boyish features and neatly pressed uniform, his time on the ice had marked him. His eyes were a darker water green, and his hair had more grey in it than before. A few lines at the corner of his eyes and the still pink patches of scar tissue were evident. Francis took all of this in a glance and wondered if Jopson would ever go back to the Exploration Service, or if the experience had snuffed out the desire for glory and adventure in him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew that many of the men had stayed in the Navy, fine with a furlough, a promotion and backpay. He had run into Irving and Hodges and Le Visconte in the offices as they waited for postings. None had opted to stay in the Discovery Service. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blanky </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> to retire and he was happy so far in Whitby. At least that was what his letters said. Goodsir and Collins had retired as well and had settled in Edinburgh. Both were doing well from the letters that Francis and James had received. He was glad of it, since Collins had one of the closest encounters with the Tuunbaq and for a while, it was unclear if he’d come back to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t know about Little or Jopson and he hoped that for their sake, they would remain in the Navy or retire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew better than to bluntly ask in such a public place. So he only stuck to the usual topics and made a mental note to ask the next time that he’d send Jopson or Little a letter. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jopson! It has been awhile. How have you been faring?” Francis asked as he folded the letter and shoved it in his pocket before shaking his former Steward’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They hadn’t seen each other since the court-martial had been held a month after they had returned and despite Ross and McClintock’s support, it had been close. Francis had been acquitted. The knighthood for himself and James would be announced soon. He had gotten one of the letters with the seal stating as such and James the other. It was just a matter of timing when it would be the case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis himself didn’t care as long as his men’s promotions were upheld. Which so far had been the case, from the looks of Lt. Jopson’s uniform and his presence in the Admiralty halls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Commodore Crozier. I came to see if anything had opened up. I’m waiting for a posting. As is Commander Little.” He added, his pale face colouring somewhat at the mention of Little. It made Francis want to ask if there was anything else there, but refrained himself with little difficulty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was all too aware that they all had their secrets and bonds forged out in the ice and they remained, whether society wanted them to or not. So they had to smooth it all over and play their parts. It hadn’t mattered as much on the way home. It was excused and Ross and Crozier turned a blind eye to it all. But in London, they had to be discreet. Especially those that remained in the service. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m glad to hear it. You both deserve new postings. Hopefully somewhere warm instead.” Francis replied, making Jopson smile widely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Indeed. One can hope. Hobart is a possibility. And you, sir?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis hid the wince at the mention of Hobart, the memories of Sophia Cracroft coming unbidden like thorns catching an unsuspecting hand. It may have been an uncharitable thought, but it did feel like he had been snagged without warning. He had avoided her for all the months that they had been back well enough that even Ross had started to point out maybe it was time to make a visit to Franklin's house.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hints that Francis had done his best to ignore. There was still too much at stake and he found himself shying away from Miss Cracroft. His infatuation had finally burnt itself out and was nothing more than cold ash. He didn’t care to be reminded of it at all. It brought up far too many regrets and he wasn’t willing to revisit them again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d spent enough whiskey soaked nights doing so and he was keen to move on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, it wasn’t going to help James any if he remained stuck in the past, searching through his insides over an impossibility.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir?” Jopson’s voice pulled him back from his ruminations and into the present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Jopson. Wool gathering for a moment. I’m sure you will enjoy Hobart if you are posted there. I know Sir James and I did.” Francis added, trying to smooth over his memory lapse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cleared his throat and looked at Jopson, whose smile was starting to fray at the edges with concern. Just like he used to when Francis had been a little worse for the wear. And Francis couldn’t help his shame at bringing that specter back to Jopson, who no doubt wondered if his distraction had anything to do with his old habits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As for myself, I am not sure, Jopson. There are still a few details up in the air. Nothing concrete. If I am sent out, I will make sure to send a note. At this point, it is tempting to retire and head up to Whitby with Mr. Blanky. Or Edinburgh with Collins and Goodsir”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jopson allowed himself a small laugh at that. “I’m sure that all of them would welcome you with open arms.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis grinned in return, pleased he had gotten that reaction from the usually serious young man. Jopson needed to smile more. Especially after all that they had gone through. All of them did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jopson smiled at that, the worry slipping from his face. “And Captain Fitzjames?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis’ grin faded and the wound that he was starting to think was there permanently started to ache. Right under his breastbone, it hurt the moment that he thought of his James. He rubbed his chest briefly, then dropped his hand when he felt Jopson’s gaze fall on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Retired. It was a...A difficult decision to come to.” Francis sighed heavily and turned to Jopson. “I am afraid that the Passage was the final voyage of Captain Fitzjames. The Court Martial didn’t do him any favours either.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jopson winced, then sighed at hearing the news. No doubt he too recalled when James had finally collapsed after the intense questioning, creating a furore while ending the trial as quickly as possible. It had been the talk of London, Crozier found out later, making James’ retirement the obvious course of action.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> “I am sorry to hear it, Sir. We had hoped that he would be back in the Navy. He was a good commander and would make an even better captain,” Jopson commented earnestly, making Francis smile and tuck it away to let James know later. He would like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He would be glad to hear it. Thank you, Jopson,” Francis added, making Jopson nod. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James had loved being in the Navy. It had been most of his life and his identity before the expedition. Not anymore. And it had been a terrible blow to James once he had been lucid enough to realise it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Especially since he had been so adamant he would stand beside Francis no matter what. And yet again, Francis cursed that damned mockey of a trial. If they had let James be, maybe he could have healed and maybe even gained his own command. But now that door was closed and Francis tried not to dwell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had done far too much of that at James’ side already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he cleared his throat and pushed the memory of those dark days far from his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He would have, I won’t deny that. But he has his rank, his pension, and honours from the Geographic Society,” Francis paused and gestured to Jopson’s jacket, “And many of you have your promotions, something he had hoped would be upheld.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jopson flushed at that, then murmured an agreement. “So some of it was worth it”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis exhaled. “Some. Not all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence fell between them as both men thought of the ones that had been lost to their quest. Many men lost, so many unable to reap the benefits of their hard won efforts. So many still left to lie on that cold, white expanse of the Arctic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The silence was thankfully brief and broken by Jopson pulling out a pocket watch and sighing at the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I must be away, sir. It was good seeing you again. Please send my regards to Captain Fitzjames when you see him. And tell him we will write soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis could only nod, his jaw tight against any words that he may have blurted out. His heart ached, but it was a good ache. Not like the one that was always with him. He was touched that Jopson had remembered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Most of the world had forgotten James. But not Jopson and his sensitivity towards James’ state touched him. And touched him deeply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will. Thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was barely a whisper, but Jopson heard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome, sir.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jopson gave him a last nod before he turned and left Francis watching him go. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once Jopson had disappeared, Francis pulled out the letter he had been reading earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Commodore Crozier, it has been far too long and answers are required…”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis sighed and folded it again before leaving the large hall and going to catch a carriage to the Ross house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew it had been far too long. But he still had no real answers to give yet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~*~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, Commodore Crozier! You’re back! Let me take your coat and hat.” Rose the housemaid, a pretty and small girl, exclaimed as she did just that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Rose. Are Sir James and Lady Anne here?” Francis asked as Rose put his coat and hat away as he moved further inside, heading to the sitting room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They left for a luncheon and will be back for supper. Would you like something to eat sir? I’m sure that Cook can make something up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rose asked as she nervously tucked a loose brown curl behind her ear as she waited for Francis’ reply. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes. That would be lovely. And a pot of tea as well, thank you Rose.” Francis replied as he moved over to the side table to see what correspondence had arrived for him. Or for James.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Certainly sir.” Rose replied, sketching a quick curtsey before she went to her task. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only three letters had arrived for them. Goodsir and Collins had written one, Le Visconte and Blanky the others and Francis breathed a sigh of relief. These were trusted men and not a strain to write back. They didn’t demand anything more serious than a quick greeting and an exchange of news. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like other letters that demanded their time and their appearance simply for the cachet of having the Franklin survivors. He had hated those balls and gatherings before. Once he had returned, he hated them even more and was glad to be able to simply say no. Or have Ross intervene on their behalf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe with more time? Francis shook his head at the thought. No. Even if James was healthy enough, he doubted he would ever be ready to go back to that mindless kind of socialising again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took the letters and put them in his pocket when the door opened and Rose bustled in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here you are, sir. Just like you asked.” Rose placed the tray down with the food and the tea all ready for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Rose. One last thing. How is Captain Fitzjames today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rose paused. “Morag is with him and she said that he is well. Resting after having a bit to eat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis nodded. “Thank you. That will be all Rose.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rose bobbed her head and departed the room, off to do other duties no doubt. He watched her go before pouring himself some tea and milk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After he ate he would go and see James. Maybe bring him some tea and those biscuits he liked and talk if he was awake and able.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis stirred some sugar into his tea and took a sip. That was what he would do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~*~*~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morag, the Scottish nurse Ross had hired, was reading when Francis appeared at the doorway of the pale blue and gold decorated room, a cup of milky sweet tea in hand. Her brow was furrowed and her lips moving quietly as she read by the light of the window. Tendrils of her dark hair were sticking to her cheek and neck as she bent over the book, her dark brows furrowed as she worked to make sense of the printed text. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pale blue curtains weren’t fully drawn, making Francis give a soft sigh of disappointment.  He had hoped that James would be up and waiting for him, but if Morag had drawn the curtains only half-way, James was either resting or asleep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if Morag was taking a bit of time to read for herself, then James had been sleeping for awhile.He wondered if he even should bother coming in and disturbing both of them. Morag was kept busy with James and helping out in the house when necessary. It wasn’t often she got time to read for herself. He wanted to see James, but if he was resting, he didn’t want to wake him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James needed all of the rest that he could get and Francis was loath to cut into that rest. Even though he knew James wouldn’t mind and would fight sleep to spend time with him, Francis didn’t want to wake him. Not when his health was still so fragile. He wouldn’t risk James again. Not when he had done it in the Arctic and during the court martial. He didn’t dare do it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loved him too much to lose him and he didn’t think he could truly be happy if James wasn’t with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And for that to happen, he needed to let James heal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having made up his mind, he turned to go, only to be stopped by James crying out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Francis? Francis! FRANCIS!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was enough to have Francis dash past Morag and hastily shove the cup and saucer onto the side table before carefully pulling James into his arms and holding him tightly. James clung to him, his breathing rapid pants as he fought to extricate himself from his nightmare. He gasped and cried, while Francis let him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here, James. I’m here. I’m here. Everything is well. Everything is well.” He kept repeating the litany, smoothing James’ hair back until the trembling had subsided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, finally, James was able to shift enough so that his good eye was fixed on Francis’ face.  He stared at Francis for several seconds before he sighed and pressed his forehead against Francis’ own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stayed like that for minutes, breathing slowly until James was able to sit up on his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was it the ice again?” Francis asked, helping James sit up against the pillows propping him up in his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James nodded. “The last days. Right before we got rescued.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis swallowed at that, and looked away, catching a hovering Morag’s eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She caught the hint and picked up the discarded saucer and cup.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get some tea, shall I?” Morag asked, leaving before anyone could say anything else. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I could use some tea. She’s good at that. Knowing when we need tea” James murmured, shifting in bed as Francis composed himself before turning back to James. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you are here. I don’t think I could have faced it alone as well.” James murmured, his eyes half-closing as he spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad I am here so you did not face it alone either.” Francis replied warmly. “In fact, I was bringing you some tea. But I am afraid I did mostly spill it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He explained when both of them turned to look at the spot where the cup and saucer had recently rested. Francis shrugged, turning back to James. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t be helped really. Morag will bring some more soon. Tell me, where did you go today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James asked, plucking at Francis’ uniform that he hadn’t changed out of since he had returned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Admiralty office. My presence was requested. And I ran into Jopson, who sent his regards. He’s going to be shipping out soon.” Francis replied, secretly pleased at the small smile that Jopson’s wishes brought to James’ face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That must be wonderful. Did he say the place in particular?” James queried eagerly as he moved to sit up, wincing as his bad arm buckled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing has been decided. But he’s hoping for Hobart.” Francis replied, smoothly catching James and lifting him up enough to sit up. Once he was in position, he shoved pillows behind James. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But once he had done that, he realised that they were quite close. Almost embracing again and he wasn’t the only one to see it. Francis could pinpoint the exact moment when James realised it, his eyes going wide when it finally hit him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were so close that if Francis leaned over and tilted his head just so, he would be able to kiss James. Maybe just a soft brush of their lips. He was building up to it, but the sound of footsteps in the hall was enough to make the decision for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis tamped down the disappointment that welled up in him over the situation. They hadn’t many chances to be alone and to shower each other with affection. Ever since James’ collapse, privacy had been thin on the ground. And they tried to take advantage of the times they were alone. But sometimes, even they were not enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moved to get off the bed, eliciting a small whine from James, making him stay put. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure? It might be awkward once the tea arrives.” Francis asked quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Although Morag was discreet and didn’t seem to mind, Francis found it hard to break the habits of having to sneak around in order to show his beloved affection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Still. I’m sure. At least until tea. I just...I just feel better with you near. Hearing about the others is better with you right beside me,” James looked up and smiled weakly, “Is that too much...Or?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis shook his head. “Not at all. It never will be. You know that. Please don’t think it otherwise. Not now or ever James.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James’ mouth trembled for a few moments before he took a deep breath and nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right. Right then. Tell me more about Jopson. What else did he say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis smiled and continued, drawing out the somewhat brief meeting for James’ pleasure, since he wasn’t able to get out of bed, never mind out into the city. His health was still precarious from the relapse and he lived vicariously through Francis and the Rosses. As well as though the letters that came from their friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James soaked it all in, still listening eagerly when Morag appeared to drop off a tray and excuse herself to have her own supper. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she had left, Francis recalled the letters that were in his pocket and pulled them out to show James.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! Will you read them, Francis?” James asked, his expression brightening at the sight of the letters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Let’s get some tea first though,” Francis replied. James nodded his agreement and once Francis had poured them cups and they had drank their fill did he pick up a letter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s see what Dundy has to say about being on furlough, shall we?” Francis asked as he snapped the wax seal, unfolded the letter and began to read.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both chuckled over the way that Dundy detailed his exploits, despite them being his dealings with the Admiralty and his family as he waited out his furlough and hoping for a post in The Bahamas.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t blame him. I’d like to go there too if I had the chance. I’m done with the Arctic, “ James commented as Francis folded the letter and put it away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure we could manage it. Maybe Portugal for a start?” Francis suggested, making James smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like that. Once I get better. One day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis reached out and took James’ hand. The one that was weak and shook, and kissed it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One day soon. I’m sure of it. We will go. Now would you like to hear what Goodsir and Collins have to say?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James nodded and Francis settled in to read the next letter, James’ hand still in his.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The day would come, he was sure of it. James would be well again and they would go out together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for now, Francis’ excursions to the outside and letters from their men were enough to make James’ sickroom much more bearable to deal with.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. I keep the letter where I wrote that I dream of you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>James receives and writes correspondence that forces him to re-examine his values and who he wants in his life, from past to present. The peace is broken when Francis returns with less than great news.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I wasn't planning on this being such James centric fic, but it worked, since the next one is very Francis centric for reasons. And James kind of needed a bit of his own voice after being sidelined for a bit.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“Letters for you, Captain Fitzjames.” Morag announced, giving him the envelopes and the glasses he had required to read ever since his long convalescence in Halifax and now, the Ross house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His vision was still less than it had been before in that eye, but he could at least get around without bumping into things. He had to rest his eyes more often than not, but he could </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Blurrily, but he could see compared to earlier when he could only perceive movement along with light and darkness. He wouldn’t ever be on the deck of a ship again, but he could still see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as much as he had grumbled over the glasses, he was secretly grateful for them. It meant a bit more independence for him and he would take it any day of the week. He was sick of being an invalid. Anything that helped him move away from that was a win for him. Even if it meant not relying on Francis as much. Something that James had to privately admit he did enjoy once in a while. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite hating the time needed for him to put them on, he took them and the letter then smiled his thanks to Morag. He laid the letter on his lap and fumbled with the glasses, struggling a bit to open them. His weak hand gave him some trouble still, but he resisted the urge to ask Morag to help him, even though she was hovering nearby ready to do so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> It took him a few tries, but he managed to get them on and moved onto the letter. His fingers, after the struggle with his glasses, wouldn’t obey him. He tried, but finally gave up when his hand cramped up and his fingers simply wouldn’t obey him. It was then that Morag unobtrusively opened the letters and placed them into his good hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Morag.” James whispered, trying to tamp down the shame that inevitably reared its head at those moments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to not fall into shame at his current state. He was all too familiar with being a patient to know the drill. Yet it appeared. No matter how much Francis and Morag tried to assure him there was no shame to the situation, James felt the sting of it. It wasn’t as bad as during the relapse, when he had all but been carried to this room by Francis and Sir James. But it was still there and it was something he struggled with silently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was starting to suspect that the longer that he stayed in the Ross estate, the more that shame would be a permanent fixture in his life. Just like how the shame of his background had hounded him, this too would plague him for the rest of his days. It was a bitter pill to swallow, made more so when he had to retire from the Navy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a painful blow, but he was slowly recovering from it with the help of Francis and Morag. And to an extent, Sir James and Lady Ross, who had happily extended their hospitality to him and Francis for as long as they would require it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The knighthood only </span>
  <em>
    <span>just</span>
  </em>
  <span> made it tolerable, but it was his struggle to overcome and to accept. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And at least he had his dear, darling Francis at his side. At the thought of his beloved, James couldn’t help smiling whenever he thought about Francis. Despite their earlier differences and even some in the present, he was deeply in love with Francis. And he was grateful that he had a chance to live and love him and be loved by him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re gotten far too romantic since you’ve come back to England, James old boy!” Dundy had teased him when James had shyly and haltingly answered the </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> pointed questioning of his friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The visit had taken place a few weeks after his relapse and Dundy had stopped by, keen to know why James had risked himself for Francis at the court martial. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dundy got his answer, James saw, the moment he looked up from the chess game and found his friend standing in the doorway. His face was carefully blank and James understood that his friend knew. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been sure after Francis had excused himself from the room and Dundy blurted out his ridiculous statement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had been mortified by Dundy’s exclamation until Dundy had laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, careful of his bad arm. Even though the scars had healed back up with ugly pink scar tissue, Dundy had treated him as if he was as fragile as glass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A contrast to how Francis would touch him. Gently, but not overly so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cheer up, James. After all you went through, you deserve a bit of happiness. Not my type, really. But hey, as long as he makes you happy, who am I to judge?” Dundy asked then, his eyes softening when James nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least you’re out of the navy and a knight. Less of a hassle that way,” Dundy noted, making James snort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll let you know when it will be. Right now, we’re here. It will be different once we strike out on our own,” James added, his expression darkening slightly at the prospect of having to share Francis not just with the Rosses, but also the world.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dundy had laughed at that. “Don’t sound so pessimistic. I’m getting more invitations than I can handle because of you. If they can’t get Fitzjames, get the nearest man to him. Thanks for that, by the way. Good way to keep busy and get my pantry filled at the same time!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James shook his head at that and smiled at Dundy’s comments. Something he found himself doing in the present as the memories washed over him, easing the sting of his physical shortcomings. And making the shame dissipate and the awkward tension between him and Morag dissipate as quickly as it had arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re welcome, sir.” Morag murmured, relieved that James’ bad mood had passed quickly. She sighed inwardly before picking up the mending she had been working on before the letters had arrived for the Captain. She continued darning, seemingly absorbed in her work and leaving James to his letters. Both of them had been around each other long enough to give each other space, the silence that had fallen between them a companionable one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they had settled, James put one of the letters down to the side shifting a bit on the daybed he was resting on. He moved his pillows about, getting comfortable and only then did he settle down to read. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dearest James,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> The letter began, bringing a smile to James’ lips as he managed to decipher his brother’s spidery scrawl without much hassle. It warmed him to see that familiar handwriting and to know his eyesight wasn’t getting worse. Pleased, he continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I do hope this letter finds you better than the last time we corresponded. Elizabeth and I were beside ourselves when we got word of your return. It is indeed a miracle that you returned! And as well as you did, even if you had a setback. Things could have gone worse, so we are relieved that you weren’t as horribly and permanently marked as others. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I must congratulate you on your promotion. Will you be heading out this year? Or are you still convalescing with the Rosses? Oddly enough, news are scarce about the Franklin survivors. Any idea why that would be?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>When will we be able to see you, James? As much as we are grateful for Captain-no, Commodore- Crozier for his letters and then yours, it would be a marvel to see you again! Come to Hertfordshire! Say yes, James. It would be just like old times!</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Things have been the same as ever. I’m sure that you would appreciate catching up and meeting your nieces and nephews. I do miss my brother.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We look forward to seeing you again.  All my best, William.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>James grimaced at the salutation and closed his eyes briefly. He knew his brother meant well, but all his letter did was make James’ stomach twist and his heart beat a bit faster. He didn’t want to deal with this right now. He couldn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least not alone. He needed Francis and maybe Ross to discuss this over with.As much as he wanted to see his brother and his family...He didn’t want to overestimate his abilities and set his health back again. He couldn’t be what William wanted. Not anymore. And James knew that Francis wouldn’t be so understanding if he foolishly risked himself again. Especially for what was more or less a frivolous endeavour. Or so he imagined the other two would say. Not that he didn’t love his brother, but he simply couldn’t be William’s companion. Not when he was an invalid himself, more or less. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mouth twisted at that as he was still conflicted over his brother’s letter. And his own shortcomings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe when Francis came back from his errands would he bring it up. But until then, James folded the letter back and set it aside. He refused to think about a response for his brother’s request and instead moved onto the other letters that had arrived. His eyes were starting to ache, telling him it was time to stop and he really wanted to think of something else other than his brother and his requests.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a break for a bit, lying quietly with his eyes closed and let his mind wander. He found it was a good way to ground himself and refocus. Which was something that he desperately needed at that moment. He knew himself and he would have worked himself up in knots. So he waited and one he was calmer and his eyes didn’t ache, he continued with his correspondence.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dear James, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Greetings from Edinburgh! I hope that this message finds you better in all aspects since the time we saw you last. As well as Francis. I hope that you don’t mind the familiarity in my letter. Do let me know if you do. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We have settled in Edinburgh and I have started my own practice, while dear Collins continues to recover steadily. He has returned to his studies and it gladdens my heart to see it. He sends his regards and wishes you both well. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>My practice is going well and we have received word that there is a symposium in London at the Royal Geographic Society at the end of this month. Would it be presumptuous of me to ask if a visit would be possible?</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Do let me know if you can so we can make arrangements. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your friend, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Harry D. S. Goodsir.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite both letters asking for his presence, he didn’t feel the same reluctance when reading Harry’s letter as he did when reading William’s. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For one thing, Harry was one of the sweetest and gentlest men he’d ever known and being with him was a balm on his weary soul. Even Collins, despite all his bruises and damage, was a soothing presence to James. They were some of the few people that he could bear to have around and he valued their connection highly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They were special to him because they were the only ones that had experienced what he had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis and the other survivors understood. Harry and Collins also understood, in their own different ways and the prospect of seeing them made his heart lighten and erased the unease that his brother’s letter pulled up in him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He folded Harry’s letter closed and took off his glasses, letting his head fall back on the pillows as he composed a reply to Harry rather than to William. He was nearly done when Morag cleared her throat to catch his attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“With your permission, I was thinking of going to the kitchen to fetch some refreshments. Would you also like for me to fetch your writing desk?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James opened his eyes and smiled at her, “Please and thank you, Morag.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morag returned the smile and bobbed a curtsey before she left the room, leaving him to his thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She returned promptly, another maid bearing the tea tray while she set up the desk for him, allowing him to start his correspondence while she and the maid got the tea ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James ignored them as he picked up his pen and thanked his lucky stars his writing hand wasn’t the one injured and worked on his replies. Harry’s being warm and a promise to see each other, while William’s was equally warm, but making no promises to see each other soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t bother to re-read them, only finished them off and got them into envelopes before addressing them and handing them to the maid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you would have these sent out as soon as possible, I’d greatly appreciate it, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The maid nodded, bobbed a curtsey and left him and Morag to their tea, which they took silently until Francis arrived. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis, who looked ashen and exhausted as he stepped inside the room and sat on the other chair near James’ daybed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of James’ previous anxiety disappeared the moment that he saw Francis so drawn out and spent. In fact, Francis looked almost as bad as he had during the days before their rescue. It alarmed James and he managed to sit up, putting the half finished cup on the side table so that he could better tend to Francis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He pushed the light blanket that had covered his legs and sat up, his leg and arm trembling with the exertion.  He leaned over to clasp Francis’ hand, forgetting or uncaring that they were not alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morag took that as her cue and handed Francis a cup of tea before departing the room, closing the door behind her swishing skirts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once she was gone, James turned to look at Francis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Francis? Did something happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis nodded, rubbing his face roughly, looking at the wall.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was at the Admiralty to fetch our mail when I found a letter from Lady Franklin. She wants to meet and won’t take no for an answer,” Francis sighed, rubbing his temples roughly, turning to look at James. “And she will do anything to get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James paled at Francis’ words. He didn’t doubt she would. She was that formidable. And she wasn’t above dirty tricks to get what she wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ross and Barrow hinted as much. She wants to know what really happened to her husband and the expedition. So I have to go.” Francis added quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Once he had spoken, the room was so silent that a pin falling would have been heard. James could only swallow convulsively at Francis’ words. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knew that Francis had been desperately avoiding the Franklin women ever since their arrival, the Rosses providing a much needed smokescreen whenever possible. But it couldn’t last forever.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Especially not Lady Franklin and her particular brand of bullheadedness. Or Sophia Cracroft, who James still wondered if Francis still held a flame for. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James didn’t dare ask. Nor did he think about the possibility often. Yet the idea lingered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And right now, as he fought to gather his thoughts and speak, it was in the forefront of his mind. James had the sickening fear that Francis would run full tilt into Sophia’s arms once he saw her. Despite knowing Francis loved him, James knew how deeply Francis had cared for her. Loves like those didn’t fade completely. All they needed was a spark and they would shine brightly again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed hard and forced his fears down. Francis was shaken and needed him. He couldn’t wallow. He had to be strong for the man he loved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finally found his tongue and forced himself to ask the question that was first and foremost on his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When will you go?” James ground out, his hand tightening around Francis’ own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis exhaled loudly, pulling out the letter and checking the date.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Friday. The sooner we bury the past, the quicker we can move on from it and them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis stated firmly, making most of James’ fears subside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rest disappeared the moment that Francis lifted James’ hand and pressed a kiss on it.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. And you know that nothing’s gonna be the same again</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Francis goes to the Franklin house for closure. Whether it is Lady Franklin and Miss Cracroft or himself, he isn't quite sure.<br/>He's nor sure until he comes home to share long hidden feelings, getting the same from James in return.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Francis looked around the room, his hat tucked under his arm and pressed to his side as he stood there. He looked around the drawing room, taking in the changes. He hadn’t been there in years and it was distinctly odd to be back. Never in his years on the ice had he pictured himself being here again. </p><p>But he was and he found it alien and fussy and oppressive. The wallpaper looked faded and worn, the furniture slightly shabby. A portrait of Sir John took the place of honour above the mantle, festooned with black crepe and adding to the gloom of the room. Francis tried to not look at the painting that hung there, like a silent reminder of their failures. </p><p>This room was nothing at all like the Rosses house, which was open, bright, and inviting. This place was nothing but a mausoleum to broken legacies and dreams and he hoped he wouldn’t be here for much longer. He had enough of dead things, he thought as he looked at his pocket watch and hoped that Lady Franklin would appear soon. </p><p>It was true that at the present moment he hadn’t any pressing business, but he also wanted to get this summons over and done with. And hopefully avoid So-Miss Cracroft while he was at it. He had to admit that was wishful thinking, since he had heard from Anne that Sophia was Lady Franklin’s secretary and no doubt would appear with her. Still, he hoped. </p><p>He was still musing on the possibilities when the door opened to reveal Lady Franklin, dressed in mourning and...Sophia Cracroft right behind her, dressed in a grey frock with black trim.  </p><p>He watched them enter with a cool detachment he hadn’t ever felt when he had been in their presence before, not moving until they had entered and sat down. He waited, neither shifting or smiling, until they had arranged themselves upon the larger sofa and Lady Franklin indicated that he should sit across from them. </p><p>It was only then that he gave them a curt nod before sitting down, perching on the edge of the sofa, his hat on his lap as he waited for them to speak.</p><p>This wasn’t a social call and he was determined to show them that he didn’t view it as such. </p><p>He saw by the way that Lady Franklin’s eyes flickered and Sophia Cracroft’s faintly furrowed eyebrows that he had surprised them. He hadn’t played the part he was expected to and they were at a loss at how to proceed. </p><p>And Francis found that he couldn’t be bothered to play the game. He had been summoned here, quite against his will, and he only wanted to fulfill his duty and go back to James and the Rosses. There was nothing else for him here anymore. </p><p>He cleared his throat and turned to Lady Franklin, not bothering to acknowledge Miss Cracroft and began. </p><p>“I am here, Lady Franklin, at your request. Although I find myself at a loss as to why you would feel the need to see me. I am sure you read the report after the court martial was finished. All of the events are there. So why is my presence required?”</p><p>Francis waited for the answer and watched the two women arrange their skirts and confer silently with each other as they worked on their next step. </p><p>It didn’t take them long to decide on a course of action and Francis found himself looking forward to seeing what that would be. </p><p>Soon enough, he got his answer.</p><p>“You are right in that my aunt and I read the report. Or rather, what we could read. You have been a Navy man most of your life. You know how those reports are written. It would be...Closure for my aunt and myself to know exactly what happened to my uncle in the Arctic.”</p><p>Sophia explained, her voice coaxing and wheedling in a way that would have quickly won him over before, but now had the effect of making him irritated and sigh inwardly. </p><p>He hated that Sophia had been the one to speak to him while Lady Franklin sat there silently, waiting for his reaction. Despite her nonchalance and silence, he knew she was aware of every single thing going on in that room. He knew he would have to tread carefully. Give her enough of a fabricated lie that would satisfy her enough to let him get away. He knew that she wouldn’t leave it alone until she had gotten enough to build her own version of what Sir John’s demise entailed.</p><p>And he wasn’t in the mood to give it to her. Nor did he want any of his men to be in the crosshairs either. As they sat there, he did the mental roll call of who Lady Franklin could press and was thankful to find that out of all the men who she could have called were unavailable. They had either retired, or were out to sea. He made a mental note to write to them and be wary of any invitations promising anything from Lady Franklin or the Admiralty itself. </p><p>Maybe Ross could do that. Or maybe even Barrow?</p><p>A delicate cough interrupted his thoughts, bringing him back to the present time and the uncomfortable situation he needed to extricate himself out of. </p><p>“Please, Sir Francis. If you could be so kind to share what you can,” Lady Franklin pressed. He couldn’t call it a plea. Women like Lady Franklin didn’t plead. They demanded. </p><p>And Francis found his hackles rising at her words. Especially when he was the one doing her a favour.</p><p>“What can I tell you that hasn’t been written down? I will remind you that I wasn’t there when he was taken,” Francis replied carefully. </p><p>It was true. He had been in the drawing room of the Terror, trying to put himself together through an alcoholic haze. It had been poor James and the Erebus men that had found the remains of Sir John. The part of him that they had later buried while he had been drunker than a lord. </p><p>He frowned at the whiskey soaked memory and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly as he tried to put the chronological timeline of the expedition. </p><p>“But you were his second, Sir Francis. Anything not on the record would be a help,” Sophia murmured, leaning forward in anticipation.</p><p>Francis smiled at her words before he started on the narrative that he had finally put together once he got away from the unpleasant memories that haunted him from those early days of the expedition. He looked at her and began.</p><p>“The ice trapped us and we had hard winters. The food was contaminated and we saw that we had to leave the ships lest we starved. Before we could, a polar bear ripped Sir John apart and I was left in charge with Commander Fiztjames as my second,” he paused letting the horrors wash over the two women, “both of us decided to try our luck on the mainland. We walked through shale, dragging boats and getting picked off by scurvy and more polar bears. We had luck that Sir James found us in time, or more would have perished. That is all I can tell you.”</p><p>Francis winced inwardly at his bluntness, but he wanted this interview over and done with as quickly as possible and felt that this was the only way to do so. He wasn’t always as ruthless as this, but he had no desire to dance attendance on the Franklins any longer. He was done with reliving the horrors of that failed expedition that was nothing more than a monument of the hubris of the Royal Navy and a stubborn fool of a man who should have known better. </p><p>“Surely...Surely you could give us more than that, Sir Francis,” Sophia tried again, undeterred by his cold bluntness. She even graced him with one of the smiles that he had cherished so much before. It should have made his face flush. Yet it only left him wondering if he had been that pitiful, that desperate to receive crumbs when they were given. </p><p>Maybe he had been. No longer.</p><p>Especially not when James, his darling James, was always so free with his affection. James would always be ready with a smile, a touch, or a kiss. He was never shy with affection. Never partitioned it out as if it was a precious commodity. Never felt the need to hide it. Unlike Francis himself, who was still getting used to having someone be like that with him. </p><p>And it was that contrast between James and Sophia, his past and present, that prompted him to act. </p><p>He stood up, both women sitting back at his movements. Sophia herself was surprised at his actions. As if she couldn’t quite believe that he was immune to her charms. He could see that both of them were watching him as if he was a dangerous predator. Maybe they were right to think of him as such. He didn’t care. He was done. </p><p>“Are you sure that is all, Sir Francis? Is there any incentive I could give you to say more? I can’t help but to think there is surely more you are holding back?”</p><p>Lady Franklin tried again, her voice deceptively gentle as she spoke. She was trying, Francis would give her that. But he could still hear the hint of a threat under all that softness. </p><p>If it had been five or six years before, he would have given in. He knew it and she knew it. But times had changed to favour him.</p><p>And a glance at the two women, Francis could see that the realisation was dawning on them.</p><p>He had a position. He was titled and he had a decent pension. He also had his James and his remaining men. There was nothing and no one for him here. </p><p>Nothing more than being suffocated by the past and choked by the lies about a man who had no compunction sacrificing lives in order to further his own agenda. They had been chess pieces to him, not real men. Neither his crew or the people in the arctic. All of them had been expendable to him. </p><p>And Francis was done. For Queen and Empire was an empty platitude for men ravaged by scurvy and starvation and brought to the brink. Some had pulled through well enough, but others like Collins and Peglar and his James...It was still a long way to go. </p><p>And the memory of Peglar’s frost-bitten face, Collins’ haunted eyes, and James’ bloodied eye and wound was enough to pull him out of this farce that society deemed necessary for him to complete.</p><p>“No. I can’t. To you, it’s fodder for the story of Sir John. To me, to the men that endured it all, it was a horrific experience we just barely survived. Many didn’t. Some probably will always be marked by it. And I will not revisit that hell simply for your desire to have a myth where there was none to be had. Good day.”</p><p>He gave them a sharp nod, leaving them there in their tableau as he left that house and all of the bitter memories behind. </p><p>Once the door shut behind him was Francis able to breathe. </p><p>He put his hat on and nodded to the Rosses driver that they were done. Francis had wanted to walk, but Ross had insisted. </p><p>“No matter how it goes, it would be better if you just take the carriage. After all, it’s not just us that want to hear the outcome of the meeting,” Ross reminded him, making Francis glare at him. </p><p>“That was a low blow, Ross and you know it. But I’ll take the carriage,” Francis groused, giving in gracelessly. Ross had only laughed and clapped him on the back, knowing his old friend all too well.</p><p>Yet as he sat in the dimness of the carriage, he was glad that his friend had the foresight to insist. He doubted he could face walking back and dealing with the throngs of humanity in London with how heightened his emotions were at the time. </p><p>He closed his eyes and did his best to not dwell on that awkward and ugly scene.</p><p>~*~*~*~*</p><p>James sighed heavily when Morag had announced she needed to run an errand. After assurance he was well, she left with such alacrity that James had to wonder if he had been <em> that </em> insufferable. It was true he couldn’t help his anxiety over Francis’ visit to Lady Frankling and Miss Cracroft. But surely he wasn’t that bad.</p><p>Considering how quickly Morag had gone, he had to admit that maybe he had been. And after spending twenty minutes worrying the situation over again, he decided that maybe it was time to catch up on his correspondence. At least writing would keep his mind away from his worries. And maybe make the time go faster as well.</p><p>Deciding on a course of action, he pulled the portable desk over his lap, arranged the necessary materials and began his self-imposed task. He wrote back to Dundy, and back to Harry to finalise his and Collins’ visit. Despite Collins not being mentioned in the letter, James had no doubt that Collins would be there. Neither man would wander far away from each other. Just like Bridgens and Peglar and himself and Francis. </p><p>He guessed, from Dundy’s letters, that Little and Jopson had a similar arrangement, but whatever it was, they kept it to themselves. </p><p>And James wasn’t about to write and ask. Not when they were still in the Royal Navy. He was canny enough to know where that would lead and he wasn’t about to ruin their chances for advancement just to satisfy idle curiosity. </p><p>He shrugged his thoughts off and put the letters in their corresponding envelopes and placed them neatly on the tray for one of the maids or footmen to post. </p><p>He packed up the portable desk and was able to muster up enough energy to move it to the chair before sliding down to lie on his back. His arm was aching, his eyes were watering, and even his back and leg were throbbing painfully.  He knew he had overdone it, but he had to distract himself from wondering how Francis was faring. </p><p>He had no doubt that Francis had gone to the Franklin house out of a sense of duty. He had admitted as much the moment that he had appeared in James’ rooms late that morning. And yet James couldn’t help the fear that crept into his mind at the thought of Francis and Sophia Cracroft together. </p><p>He was all too aware of how deep Francis’ feelings for her ran.  He also knew that despite the hints and the feelings between them, there was always a chance that Francis <em> would </em> leave. Well, that was his fear, at least. </p><p>Even though James had tangible proof that Francis had no intention of seeking out Sophia Cracroft, he still had that idea in the back of his mind. Particularly whenever his arm trembled or his eyes burned and blurred. Or when he would try to walk and his leg would buckle. Why would Francis want to stay with a ruined wreck like him? Why wouldn’t Francis go out and seek a healthy companion? One that could give him all he wanted?</p><p>He groaned and forcefully pushed his dark thoughts away, reminding himself of what Goodsir had told him on <em> The Enterprise </em> when he had been finally lucid enough to look for Francis when he didn’t find him there. </p><p>“Sir James dragged him off to get some rest and has forbidden him to come back until he had at least eight hours of sleep under his belt,” Goodsir had smiled at him then, easing James’ fears. </p><p>“He hasn’t left your side since we came on board,” Harry explained as he gently wiped James’ face clean with a wet rag, careful not to aggravate the still healing sores on his face.</p><p>“He hasn’t? Why?” James asked, his voice cracking as he spoke.</p><p>Goodsir only gave him a <em> look </em> as he finished the task and put the rag in a bowl on the washstand.</p><p>“For the same reason why Collins stays in my quarters. He doesn’t want to be away from you and worries for you. I’m sure you can figure out the rest, James.”</p><p>Goodsir had finished the visit by giving him a large dose of lemon juice and had gone to complete his other duties, one of them being to check on Jopson, Peglar, and lastly Collins. </p><p>James had watched Goodsir interact with the man, who was still dealing with the trauma and physical effects of the failed expedition. He noted the kindness and patience that Goodsir had with Collins, who clung to it like a lifeline. He also noted how Goodsir’s face would change when he was looking at Collins, how his eyes and mouth would relax and nothing else but Collins existed for him at that moment. </p><p>How Collins would smile back and gently stroke Goodsir’s face, making Goodsir blush like a maiden at the tender gesture. And for Collins’ face to come alive again with such a fervor that James found himself averting his eyes from them.</p><p>And it was in those observations that James understood and his feelings for Francis bloomed like flowers in his chest. </p><p>Yet he didn’t voice them outloud. Not when he had been sure that he had seen that same understanding in Francis’ eyes. He had wanted to. Oh how he had wanted! But he couldn’t say the words out loud. </p><p>The closest he had come to it had been at the cairn, but that had been months ago. Long months ago and James had been too busy healing and coming to terms with who he was now. And he was too afraid to find out if it was too late to speak the words out loud. </p><p>He had shown him in so many small ways that he was able. He knew how much Francis thrived on touch and gestures of affection. So he had always touched him now that he was allowed to. Had always invited kisses and smiles from him and felt a fragile tenderness under his breastbone whenever Francis did. </p><p>He was sure he wasn’t too late, but he wouldn’t know for sure until Francis got home.</p><p>James sighed and tried to stay awake a little bit longer, but his eyes wouldn’t stay open any longer. </p><p>The next thing he knew was the feel of fingers combing his still too short hair back from his forehead. He stirred awake, his eyes opening halfway to see a pensive looking Francis watching him. He smiled weakly and reached out for Francis.</p><p>Francis smiled tiredly and took James’ hand and kissed the back of it, making James’ eyes widen at the gesture. </p><p>“Francis?” James whispered, his heart racing as he waited in the uncertainty of hope for Francis to speak. </p><p>“I hated every minute of that visit, James. All they wanted was lies by any means and I couldn’t stay there any longer. I had to leave as quickly as I could,” Francis shook his head before he looked back at James. </p><p>“I had known I didn’t belong there for years. I had known that I didn’t care for Miss Cracroft for a year. But today confirmed it all for me. It also confirmed where I belong and to <em> who </em> I belong.”</p><p>Francis swallowed hard and moved to sit on James’ bed, letting go of James’ hand to cup his face instead. </p><p>“It’s you, James. Ever since the cairn. It’s been you.”</p><p>James only had time to blink before Francis tilted his head up to claim his lips and finish claiming his heart.</p><p>The kiss was everything that he had hoped for and then some. It was passionate, with Francis' lips and tongue all over his. He tasted like tea and cream and the warmth James had always longer for. </p><p>“As it has been for me, Francis darling. I love you.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Francis-He kind of came off majorly anti-imperialist and jaded. I guess I would be too if I had to deal with this BS all the time. He may be anachronistic...But it made sense, him being Irish and disillusioned and all. I also despise Lady Franklin, so it was kind of nice to write him telling her off politely.<br/>James-He is a bit insecure and in this instance, he's being a bit over the top. He *needs* to hear he is loved and even though Francis has done that over and over again, he still has that doubt. It will go away. Honest.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Eternamente Ora</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Christmas Season has arrived as well as Harry and Collins, who come to visit, shop and grab a few gifts. While Francis also bears gifts and James reflects on the holidays at hand.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>James was carefully tying the ribbon around the last present, his fingers slow but steady as he tied the knot. He was so focused that he didn’t notice Morag standing by.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This was the last task at hand, since he had already sent cards off to the other men. He hoped that the cards would reach them in time, but with Dundy in the Bahamas and Little and Jopson in Buenos Aires, it was anyone’s guess if they would. The others had been no problem and he had already recevied replies. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Harry and Collins of course, were coming to spend the season. The earlier visit having proven too short and Christmas right around the corner, it made sense for them to visit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That had been the reason he was still wrapping up Collins’ present, so keen on getting it right that he didn’t notice until Morag knocked loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked up to see a smiling Morag standing there with a note in her hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This just came for you, sir,” Morag added as she went to lay the card down on the edge of his desk. James nodded and gave her a small smile as she curtsied and left the room. Now that he was able to fend for himself more or less, she was more like his and Francis’ maid of all work. Something he was grateful for, since he couldn’t imagine facing anyone else other than her and Francis when the bad days made their appearance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head to dispel his sudden melancholy and picked up the card. His hands were steadier than usual and James had to breathe a sigh of relief at that. Reaching out for his glasses, he opened them and slipped them on, blinking at the change in his vision. He took them off instead and read the name on the upper left corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was clear as day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Smiling a bit to himself, he slid a fingernail under the flap and laid the letter flat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>James, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The train arrived on time and Goodsir and Collins wanted to do some last minute shopping before heading to the Rosses. I thought that would give you some time to get presents wrapped. I saw the packages. No, I didn’t look. I promise. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We shall be back just in time for tea. I’ll bring some of the shortbread you like with your coffee. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Love as always, </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Your Francis.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>James laughed quietly at the note and folded it back up before he looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had actually done what Francis had suggested and was now just finishing up. He simply couldn’t stay alone in bed after Francis had gotten out to get ready for the day. It was too cold and too big without Francis wrapped around him and even the kiss Francis had given him before he departed wasn’t enough. So James had decided to work on those last minute tasks and not focus on missing Francis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t begrudge Francis having to go out into the teeming streets of London to deal with the demands of the Admiralty or the Geographic Society. He himself didn’t handle it as well as he once had due to his permanent injuries and weakened health. Francis could still go, but James had witnessed how much it drained Francis to be out there. After all, he had been the one to gently take him in hand to soothe him back to himself. To gently take off his outer clothes and coax a cup of milk tea into him while they sat on the settee, wrapped around each other until Francis was back to himself again. He would stroke Francis’ fine hair back from his forehead until Francis was able to speak of his day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James wouldn’t ever ask what had put him in that mindset. Nor would he ever. Francis gave him privacy whenever his own demons haunted him. It was only fair he did the same to his love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tea would be in two hours, give or take how long it took for the cook to get it sorted and for the children to settle down. James hummed to himself as he slowly stood up, stretching his back and leg, sighing as he heard his back pop. He groaned and rubbed his lower back, looking around the parlour and smiling as he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The room was sedate and tastefully done in shades of pale blues and lavenders. Sedate, but welcoming all the same. Comfortable furniture and bookcases as well as a large fireplace completed the decor. And now that it was Christmas season, it had undergone quite a drastic, but welcome change. </span>
</p><p>
  <span> For one, It had been decorated within an inch of its life by Francis and Lady Ann and the children, who were keen for James to have a “proper” Christmas after all those years on the ice. Garlands, holly and ivy were hung on all the walls and tinfoil stars peeked out here and there. Elaborate stockings hung on the greenery bedecked mantelpiece. The crowning glory though, was the tree. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a big tree as the Rosses had in their parlour downstairs, but it was a good size and was again, decorated with paper garlands and tinfoil stars. A few glass ornaments that Goodsir and William had sent lent some glitter here and there. No candles. He and Francis were adamant about that after the memory of Stanely popped into their minds when Lady Ann suggested it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even though it wasn’t as showy as the one downstairs, James loved it and he knew Francis did too, from the way that he would reach out and touch the prickly branches. It wasn’t quite what he recalled from his childhood in Rio, but it was enough for him and Francis. Especially after being stranded in a white limbo with no trees for so long. It was a welcome respite of colour and renewal and hope.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he found himself thinking that, he shook his head. He may need to get out if he was being that maudlin. Even if it was to the garden, he reasoned as he picked up the colourfully wrapped gift and limped over to the tree, carefully placing it amongst the modest pile that was already there. He stood back a bit and nodded his satisfaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was perfect. Something that he wouldn’t have ever imagined would have been possible this time last year, give or take a few months. He smiled, pushing the memories away of what it </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been like and walked to his room, intent on getting his coat, hat, and gloves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could recognise the signs of an encroaching “spell” as Morag was wont to call them and decided the garden and fresh air would be the best thing for it. Even with the London chill and snow covered trees, it would be a comfort to him, rather than staying inside with his thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He worked as quickly as he was able and after a quick stop to pick up his cane, went out the french doors. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he was standing in the cold air, his way lit by lanterns did his mind clear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was fine. He was safe and Francis and his friends would be here soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~*~*~*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure it’s no trouble, Francis?” Goodsir asked Francis for the third time as they walked down Paternoster row in search of a bookshop that Harry had been assured contained a volume on natural science he had been on the hunt for. Collins shook his head at his partner and slid an imploring glance at Francis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite Francis having told them the moment that they had set foot in the carriage that he had planned some time for last minute shopping, Goodsir had been apprehensive. Especially since he had his heart set on the volume and also to get some presents. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For James and for dear Henry. I haven’t had the chance to get them something,” Goodsir had explained in a low undertone as Collins watched the landscape of London rapidly pass by. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis had nodded in understanding, since he had been in a similar situation and was sure he could help Goodsir as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, I have an idea for both,” Francis assured him, easing Goodsir’s worry a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And despite that issue being resolved, Goodsir still worried that he was committing some kind of social breach. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something that Collins had tried to dissuade him from, but hadn’t been as successful. So he had finally turned to Francis and silently pleaded for her in the only way he knew how.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis picked up the hint. How could he not? It was a look he knew too well, since he had been the recipient of it whenever rowdy children had overwhelmed Lady Ann or James. He gave Collins a faint nod and turned his attention to Goodsir. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can assure you, Harry. It’s no trouble at all. I sent off a note to Jame and it looks like his gift is settled. We have time and a coach, courtesy of Ross. So search out your book. We have time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis assured Goodsir as he glanced down at the wicker basket he carried. He had checked on it before they walked down Paternoster and was pleased to see that the gifts inside were still in good condition. If he was recalling his own experiences with such gifts, they still had some time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Collins shot him a grateful look and stepped in to also assure his lover that things were well in hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You worry too much, still.” Collins murmured, smiling fondly at Goodsir. He took Goodsir’s elbow on the supposed pretext of guiding him out of the way of other pedestrians, but it was a pretext to touch him. To soften the criticism, which Goodsir understood when he turned to look at Collins and smile that close-lipped smile that softened Collins’ own serious expression. One that conveyed everything and then some that he couldn’t voice just yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A smile that made Francis avert his eyes and give them as much privacy as it was possible as they went through a street full of last minute shoppers and people making their way home. He looked ahead and exclaimed when he spotted the sign of the exact bookshop down the street and turned to Goodsir. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s it, right? The shop you were looking for?” Francis asked, making Goodsir squint, then nod excitedly. Collins grinned, relief all too clear in his face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before they could stop him, he took off, leaving a quietly relieved Collins and Francis standing on the pavement for a few moments before they rushed to catch up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis tried to not jostle the wicker basket as he rushed, but it was hard not to do so in the face of them almost running and Collins’ rushed relief at the possibility of going to the Ross house and finally resting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was like James, Francis noted as they quickly made their way to the shop, the last stop of the day. Although Collins was handling himself well and at times, going ahead to run interference for Goodsir...He had his limits. Francis could see the edges beginning to crack and he was desperately hoping that Goodsir would find his book there and they could get home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s hope it’s there. I swear I cannot go to another shop today,” Collins muttered to Francis, making him snort. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You and me both, Collins.” Francis muttered as checked in on the gifts and found them a little shaken, but still well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it alright?” Collins asked as he watched Francis lower the lid and latch it securely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfectly. No worries here,” Francis replied, making Collins smile again. Something that took Francis aback when he saw it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had seen Collins at his lowest, sunk deeply into shock, grief, and depression. His smiles had been rare and few in number and mostly aimed at Goodsir. And now...He was nearly back to the man Francis had met all those years ago. It may have been a small thing, but it gave Francis a bit of cheer to know that despite the hardships, Collins had healed. And had the opportunity to grow and be happy once more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And be in love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Just like you and James,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he thought as they entered the ordered and mercifully half-empty shop and found Goodsir beaming at the shop-keeper as he wrapped up several volumes for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I take it the hunt was successful?” Collins teased making Goodsir blush, then nod gleefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try not to stay up too late then, Anne and James won’t forgive you if you miss Christmas morning,” Francis warned, while Collins laughed and Goodsir blushed an even darker shade of pink that made Collins cough and turn away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something Francis himself had to do often whenever James himself blushed or smiled a certain way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t, Francis. You can count on that,” Goodsir replied, blissfully oblivious as he received his parcel and nodded his thanks at the shop-keeper. He headed towards the door, followed closely by a mostly recovered Collins and Francis.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis, who sighed in relief and led them towards the pub he had arranged for Ross’ carriage to wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could hardly wait to get home and going by the way that Collins was sidling up to Goodsir, he wasn’t the only one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>~*~*~*~</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“James? Where are you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James started at the sound of Francis’ voice. He had been so lost in thought while he sat in the garden he had lost track of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wincing at the stiffness of his leg, he leaned heavily on his cane when he stood up and hobbled to the French doors, stepping inside the house at the same time that Francis, Collins and Goodsir did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Morag was hovering behind them as was a valet. Both had their hands full and Morag looked relieved when she saw James appear. Another valet appeared, freeing Morag to help James with his coat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tea will be coming shortly, gentlemen. We’ll have your luggage and parcels in your room,” Morag added, bowing after receiving their thanks and disappearing with the valets and their loads. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Franics refused to give up the wicker basket and set it on the nearest flat surface, exchanging a glance with James before Collins appeared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“James! How have you been, man?” Collins greeted him, clapping him on the back as they shook hands. His dark eyes were bright and his expression was warm and cheery, making James respond in kind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fairly well most of the time. I have no cause to complain. Yourself?” James asked, reaching out to grasp Collins’ arm with his free hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Far better than I could have hoped for, I won’t lie. Edinburgh suits me and of course, Harry beside me is always a blessing,” Collins admitted, his voice growing soft and fond as he looked over at Goodsir, who was showing Francis one of the volumes he had found in the bookshop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis looked up from the volume and took in James’ coat and hat. He smiled, nodding in understanding before turning back to Harry and the book. Soon, both men were engrossed in the book, leaving their partners to watch them for a few moments before turning back to their conversation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Before James could say anything else, Collins spoke first.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see Francis has done the same for you. I am glad for it. It would have been a shame to have seen either of you alone when you both yearned for each other,” Collins whispered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James was so unprepared for that observation that he could only blink before Francis and Goodsir came back to them. Collins only winked at him, letting go of his hand and stepping aside so Goodsir could greet him with an enthusiastic handshake.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“James! At last! It’s so great to finally see you again! The last visit wasn’t long enough! Do say you and Francis will come to Edinburgh soon! Henry and I would love to have you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James smiled warmly at his friend, touched by his warmth and enthusiasm. Something worried Harry had lost a lot of when they had been on the ice and on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Enterprise</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but was glad to see back. And he was willing to bet the quietly besotted Collins deserved the credit for it all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry blinked and opened his mouth to say more when a very loud, and very cross “meow” interrupted him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everyone turned in the direction of the sound, which seemed to be coming from the wicker basket Francis had been carrying most of the afternoon. He had set it on the desk and had forgotten about it when he didn’t find James in the parlour as he had been expecting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Out of all things to forget,” Francis muttered, going to the wicker basket and picking it up to bring to the other men in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This might be a bit of an early Christmas present for Collins and James, but once I open the basket, you’ll understand,” Francis explained to his puzzled friends as he opened it to reveal two kittens who quickly stuck their heads out of the opening to look around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One was black and while the other was black as soot. Both ahd ribbons around their neck in red and green, making them look like ornaments instead of living beings. At the sight of them, Collins exclaimed softly as he made a beeline for the black and white kitten and gently coaxed him out of the basket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He cradled him gently in his arms, giving him soft pets with his fingers before turning to Francis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you. This is...It’s a grand present, thank you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis grinned while James smiled and inclined his head while Harry only stood there, transfixed by the sight of Collins cradling the kitty as gently as if he was carrying a precious piece of china. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need to thank me. It’s Harry you should be saying thanks to. I just picked them up,” Francis explained.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry smiled tenderly, moving closer to Collins to look at the kitten and give it a gentle pet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remembered how much you liked Fagin and I thought you might like another cat. Especially when I have to be away. And for me to have a reminder of you when you’re away. Merry Christmas, Henry love,” Harry whispered, pulling Collins closer to give him a passionate kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was then that Francis and James had to turn away to let them have that moment to themselves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure enough, they heard a few whispered words and with a quick glance, James saw that they were still kissing, careful to not crush the kitten between them, who at that moment, started to purr. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>James laughed softly as he turned to look at Francis and the sooty kitten in the basket, who had decided he was done with the basket and was going to crawl out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, little man. That won’t do. Come here,” James responded to this by picking him up and cradling him to his chest tightly. He gave the kitten a good scratch under the chin before gently petting him, eliciting purrs from the kitten.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah that’s a good boy! Look at that, Francis!” James exclaimed, looking up from the kitten to Francis, who was watching him with a heartbreakingly sweet look on his face. The one where his eyes got large and soft and his lips parted in a half-smile and all the lines in his face softened. The one that James had seen so many times before and never got tired of seeing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am, darling. I am. Merry Christmas, James.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>James laughed softly, stroking the kitten again. “How did you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Francis shrugged as he came closer and wrapped an arm loosely around James’ waist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lucky guess? I just saw this little lad and thought he’d be perfect for you, nothing more,” Francis exclaimed, reaching out to chuck the kitten under the chin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It was a lucky guess indeed, thank you,” James murmured, looking at Francis before he reached up and pulled him for a kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Merry Christmas, dear Francis.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Christmas-It's the biggest holiday for me and my family and due to the pandemic, I can't be at home celebrating, so this is my self-indulgence and a nice way to end the story. I looked up Victorian Christmas traditions for some of the stuff, so I think I got some right.<br/>Paternoster-According to the sources I looked up, this was THE book area in Victorian London. I was sure it was Charing Cross, but yeah. Ugh. I need to go back to Foyles. <br/>Mental health-Most of them are doing better, but they will have some kind of trauma in various different ways. I also admit that some are from what I have seen in RL or quasi,semi,pseudo, autobiographical takes. <br/>Cats-I saw the "Silver Lining" video that Tobias Menzies did with his cat Bernie as well as taking the HC that Collins actually adored the ship's cat to have their Christmas present. And I love cats and books. So yeah. <br/>Anyways, thank you all who have read and commented on this story. I'm glad you enjoyed!</p>
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